In Her Mind's Eye
by EasternViolet
Summary: Freedom is a curious thing. It does not make the wanting go away. Nuraya Amell wants to end the Blight, free the mages and see Alistair take the Fereldan throne. Most of all, she wants Alistair. Can she have it all? COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1: The Mage

She was preoccupied with the Fade. As a result, she lost her balance, slipped off the edge of a wet river stone and nearly drenched her feet. Returning to her task, she lowered the bucket into the river and recoiled as the cold water stung her fingers. _This feels like the Fade, _she seethed as she filled the bucket_._ Paying more attention this time, she hopped from stone to stone, stomped up the bank, into the alders, and back to camp. Dusk approached and blanketed the wood with long shadows and strange noises. Not much time had passed since she'd become resigned to endure a life sentence of confinement, training, and submission to the Chantry. The darkened forest should have frightened her, but she was too distracted.

Duncan's mysterious visit to Kinloch Hold three months ago had all the mages talking. Of all the skilled and brave mages in the Circle, he chose her to join the Grey Wardens. She still found it difficult to fathom that she now commanded a small company, tasked with raising an army to vanquish an Archdemon and end a Blight that threatened every beast and being in Ferelden. The survival of everything good about this land rested in Nuraya Amell's hands. That thought was as terrifying to her as a charging Hurlock.

_I've been confined within a tower since I was ten. What do I know about the people and beasts of Ferelden? What was Duncan thinking?_

A branch clawed her face and she paid no heed, instead she thought back on the long trek to Ostagar with Duncan. She began to adjust to her lack of confinement. While that would take time, she knew that not worrying about being watched and overheard would take longer. So she concealed her awe of the open world and lack of experience.

While travelling the Imperial Highway, they encountered a nobleman from Highever, with a muster of soldiers on the march to aid the King, and travelled the rest of the trip together. Nuraya would listen closely while Duncan and Ser Fergus discussed strategy, absorbing every detail. She decided her best approach to hide her inexperience was to offer little to the conversation; they already had opinions on accompanying a mage.

Duncan was not one for idle chatter either. Despite that, she learned the pending battle could turn the tide for Ferelden. _Perhaps this was also a moment to alter the fate of the mages, _she remembered thinking_._ Long into the night, he advised her about the Darkspawn and revealed their vulnerabilities; how a Hurlock differed from a Genlock, the common spells of the Emissary, and the strategies of Ogres. Despite their short-lived acquaintance, she trusted him implicitly. Whether this was due to his lack of banter or his carefully chosen opinions, his stoicism brought her great comfort and assurance.

She could tell that he thought carefully before offering an opinion. One still echoed in her mind: he was not entirely sure the Archdemon was to be unleashed at Ostagar. She also learned that he was seeking to recruit more Grey Wardens and she listened of his intentions to travel to the Brecilian forest to seek a Dalish recruit. What other wisdom would he offer her, had he lived?

The sharp sound of snapping of branches returned her mind to the woods. She placed the bucket down and listened. Her new ability to sense a looming rabble of darkspawn was just developing, and provided her with a general sense of uneasiness. Something was there, and it nagged her. Just beyond a cluster of saplings, footsteps crunched the dried underbrush. Her heart pounded as she reached for her staff. Eyes darting about, she reassured herself that her companions were close enough to hear her screams. Raising her staff, poised to attack whatever approached, she prepared to cast a fireball. Through the shadowy thicket a darkened figure appeared. Her heart drummed in her ears, she brandished her staff, ready for what approached.

"Oh, there you are. Wynne thought you might have wandered off. You know, Circle Mages are not renowned for their sense of direction outside of the tower."

So intense was her relief that his chiding did not bother her. "Andraste's ashes! You were moments away from being cooked!" She slouched and caught her breath, leaning on her staff. "Did Wynne really send you to find me, Alistair?"

"Uh, you caught me. Nope. I am supposed to prepare dinner. You were to bring me the water, and Sten started staring at me like I was a roast mutton sooo…" He noticed her widened eyes and her body sagging in relief. "You weren't frightened were you?" He grinned, ready for more light-hearted antagonism.

"I thought I sensed Darkspawn." She closed her eyes and explored her senses, but the beacon had ceased. "I think I sensed you. I've never tested this ability outside your presence. It appears I can also sense Grey Wardens."

"So that rules out a rousing round of hide-and-seek!" He winked and they continued through the wood. "Perhaps I should have clarified that when I told you about this…gift…"

"Can we sense Wardens and Darkspawn differently?" she wondered out loud. "I'd hate to give chase to any potential allies."

"Unfortunately, we won't be crossing paths with Grey Wardens any time soon, given that we are the only two that survive in Ferelden," he muttered glumly. "However, other Wardens have said that it is possible to develop a sense for the difference."

As they made their way through the brush, the glow of the fire offered a comforting sign that they were close to camp. Sten paced the perimeter restlessly. Nuraya admired how his severe countenance betrayed little of his thoughts. She hoped she was able to mask her fear as effectively. The brutality of the open world was always a cause for a mage's concern, even without the threat of civil war and a Blight. These fears were ever-present; she pushed them deep within her core to avoid undermining the group's morale.

They were but an hour outside of Redcliffe, having just returned from freeing the village from the horrors loosed by the Arl's son Connor, a demon possessed mage-child. After discovering that her friend, Jowan, had been hired by Loghain to poison the Arl, she felt a desperate need to set things straight. Completely disgusted with Jowan's careless use of blood magic, she refused his help to set matters right. Blood magic demands a sacrifice—one she refused to bestow. Given that trust of the Mages waned thin amongst Fereldans, she wanted to demonstrate the responsible use of magic. Nuraya convinced her companions to request the aid of the Circle, to free the child and free the castle. Only then would they be able to focus on reviving the Arl.

Despite her good intentions, the company argued bitterly over this decision. Sten and Morrigan dissented vehemently, but Wynne and Nuraya managed to convince Alistair and Leliana. There was consensus that they would be safer at camp than in the Castle where the veil was thin and thus posed a greater risk for Wynne, Morrigan and Nuraya. _Yes, the veil between this world and the Fade, the blasted Fade._

"Come on, let's get this show on the road." Alistair took the bucket and poured its contents into a cooking pot, then placed it over the fire. In silence, they prepared a meager meal to satiate everyone's hunger.

Nuraya worked quickly. On a flat stone she sliced some wild roots and the odd vegetable or two salvaged from Redcliffe's pantry. The sound of the blade on stone echoed the eerie resonances she sensed in the Fade. This sound followed her whenever she entered, whether by force or in her sleep. Although it was too distant, too hazy to name, its memory sent shivers down her spine.

"You didn't, by chance, get those from Morrigan did you?" He eyed the herbs she was chopping. She looked down, now distracted from her weighty thoughts.

"Uh, I found these by the brook. The flavor of these herbs should divert everyone's attention from the fact that we cannot serve anything substantial tonight. And I've added Napwort to subdue Sten and prevent him from acting on his hunger. Wouldn't want him to feast on your leg." She winked. Nuraya appreciated Alistair's wit; Maker knew she needed it.

"I think I have some dried meat from Redcliffe's larder." She scurried to her pack to search. While looking for the dried meat something caught her eye: a delicate pendant on a chain she had found in Arl Eamon's study. Alistair once talked about a similar looking trinket that belonged to his mother. On the off chance this was the pendant in question she picked it up. She had a habit of giving such small items to her companions. When she felt awkward starting a conversation, she liked to initiate it with a small gift.

The filigree chain flickered in the firelight. A pang of longing surfaced as she slipped it into her pocket. She had come to depend on Alistair, but worried she was allowing herself to feel something else, something more. _He was a Templar! He was trained to hunt Mages. Your life is complicated enough!_ She chastised herself. But she could not help but think that this attraction was mostly due to his previous occupation. She realized she was presenting this gift for no other reason than to get him to like her. _What is his opinion of me?_ Freedom had a curious side effect: the boundaries she once never thought to cross, now beckoned her seductively. At the same time, she was still gripped by the lingering fear. Constantly she groped for some limitation she could use to define herself. Freedom was like the wet rocks by the river; try as she might, balance was elusive.

She grabbed half of her dried meat stash and returned to the fire.

~0oOo0~

"Tomorrow we make for Lake Calenhad. Sten, Alistair, and Leliana will accompany me. Morrigan and Wynne go to Redcliffe Castle on the morrow and ensure Connor does not lose control again." Really, she intended on Wynne keeping vigil at Redcliffe. She was still unsure of Morrigan's motives and not at all certain whether she would protect the Arl and his son, or allow these aberrant forces see to their inevitable end. Nuraya hated the necessity to question Morrigan's motives, but believed they were certainly worth her caution. Where Nuraya was able to see magic in black and white terms, healing magic being good, demons and blood magic being bad, Morrigan only saw shades of grey. Nuraya had no idea what would happen at Redcliffe if she took Morrigan's lead.

Sten sneered. When they first discussed how to deal with the demonically possessed child at Redcliffe, he insisted that they kill him. Nuraya quickly put the kybosh on that idea and would hear nothing more. Since then, he cooperated but left little doubt of his opinion on the matter. It seemed that anything connected to magic or unrelated to brute force rankled him, so Nuraya ignored his latest protest and watched him lumber toward his equipment. He would spend long hours and go well into the evening polishing his breastplate and greaves, mending leather bindings and sharpening his blades. _At least he insisted on being prepared._

Morrigan, who normally preferred solitude, took her staff and said, "I know not why we insist on solving the problems of every Fereldan we encounter. We could have quickly solved this problem ourselves, without involving the Circle." Morrigan had a habit of questioning the Nuraya's decisions, especially those that did not align with her own.

"Without the Circle, either Connor or Isolde dies. Who is qualified to decide?" Nuraya was growing tired of defending herself.

"I say that fool woman, who invited all this trouble to begin with, is better left in the Fade."

"Only the Maker can decide," Leliana added, "especially when some extra effort would prevent an unnecessary death, no?"

Morrigan, scowling in general, continued, "meanwhile, we watch the very Blight that will swallow this land grow before our eyes."

With a deep breath, Nuraya concluded, "this is a strategic move. With Connor and Isolde safe, the Arl's choice to honour the Warden's treaty will be an easy one. Plus, I refuse to use blood magic. This is the only way."

"Then let us pray to your Maker that he does not enter the Fade in the meantime." Morrigan had a way of bringing up the worst outcome of every situation. Perhaps was her survival strategy: accept the best and prepare for the worst. "I bid thee a restful night then." She turned and sauntered back to her private retreat.

"We don't need her help," Wynne added, once Morrigan was out of earshot. "Irving will send aid, you'll see." Nuraya appreciated the support but hoped that the many decisions that lay ahead of her would not be as difficult. Did Duncan use this much time and energy when convincing the Grey Wardens of his strategies, or did they obey him without question? Was she constantly questioned because she had been a Circle Mage?

Leliana and Wynne quietly retired for the evening. Alistair sat whittling a stick, aiming the cast-off shavings into the fire. Nuraya glowered into the flames and returned to her latest preoccupation—the Fade. This was the realm of the dead where she would be sent to free the child. She sighed deeply. Was there something else she could do to prepare her journey? Forced by blood and birth, she possessed an irrevocable connection to it, and in spite of this, concluded that she had rights to loathe it. If the realm were inviting, she supposed, there would be little reason to return to her present circumstances.

"You're doing it again." She looked over and wondered to what Alistair was referring.

"You disappear for hours. Someday, I'll have to send out a search party."

"I was only at the river long enough to find some herbs and fetch water."

"That's not what I mean. You go far away, up here." he tapped his temple a couple of times.

"I suppose then, that I've failed miserably at my attempts at Qunari deportment."

Alistair grinned. "Yup. Don't bother with Qunari conversation techniques either or I might have to tell you that joke involving the Revered Mother and the Desire Demon. Care to discuss it?"

_He wants to discuss what's bothering me?_ This was new to her.

She sighed deeply. "In general, it's everything, like the party infighting. At this moment, I'm anxious about returning to the Fade. I first ventured there while taking my Harrowing, then again when that blighted demon sent us there, against our will, but to go willingly? Not my idea of a holiday." She shuddered at the thought.

"I see your point. Whatever it's worth, I admire your courage." He tossed the stick he had been whittling into the fire and stuck the knife into the ground. Wanting to change the subject, she reached into her pocket and felt the cool metal of the pendant.

"Hold out your hand."

Alistair gave her a queer look and offered a hand, in the manner a gentlemen might greet another. She offered him the object and shook to complete the gesture. "I found this in the Arl's study. I thought it might belong to you." Her stomach lurched as she touched him. She quickly retreated and placed her hands in front of the fire and as if to burn the forbidden thoughts away from the front of her mind.

He turned the necklace in his hand and held it up to the fire. They both watched it dangle hypnotically in the firelight. "This can't be. This was my mother's. After the Arl told me he was sending me to the Chantry, because his new wife didn't want me around, I threw it against a wall in a fit of rage and never saw it again. I've always regretted that. Throwing the necklace that is. I could have passed on the whole living in the Chantry part." Leaning on his knees, he stared at it and grew quiet.

Her impression of Alistair had changed since their first meeting. At first, she felt judged. Prejudice toward mages always infuriated her, as if it were the same as choosing a political stance or a type of sword. Alistair feared that she would use her magic against him, despite her offers of help. At the time, she fretted that their inability to cooperate would doom the entire mission. Once they met Morrigan his demeanour toward Mages became unbearable. Yes, Morrigan was temperamental and inconsiderate, and her harshness grated on Nuraya's nerves as well. After a few days, Morrigan's antagonism forced Alistair and Nuraya to become unlikely allies. Morrigan was easier to deal with if she were left alone, while it was quite the opposite with Alistair. She could not pinpoint the precise moment when her strategy dissolved into these feelings she could no longer shake.

In the evenings by the fire, he told her more of his past, his sad recollections of being orphaned and then shuffled from the Arl's care to the Chantry. With their deepening trust, he admitted his heritage to her—that he was the dead king's half-brother and heir to the Fereldan throne. This continued to be a delicate subject for him. It seemed that his very birthright caused some deep insecurity. It had to be difficult and she was unsure if she would relinquish her position with the Grey Wardens to take the throne either. But then again, she would not allow Loghain to claim the throne through sedition. She had not quite worked out a solution to that particular conundrum.

"Do I have to send out a search party?" Nuraya smiled, realizing how quiet Alistair had become.

He looked at her, then back down at the object in his hand. "This is very kind. Thank you. She died in childbirth…my birth. This is all I have left of her." He became quiet again. She watched the flames dance and writhe between the wood. Focusing on the embers, she endeavoured to prevent her other thoughts from roiling. She fumbled for something to say, something that would not lead to a weighty discussion, such as Duncan, her pathetic attempts at leadership, Alistair's heritage, returning to the Fade, or this.

"You know, I've never had the chance to get to know a Mage. Most of the time, templars prefer chasing them over talking to them. How long were you at the Circle?" Nuraya credited him for changing the subject, but she had hoped for some light-hearted joking. Surely he could gossip about Sten's peculiarities or on Morrigan's imagined ability to turn the party into toads.

"I think I was nine, or perhaps ten, when I first arrived. I was old enough to remember, anyway."

He continued to fiddle with the pendant, but gazed at her attentively. He had shared his sad and cruel circumstances; she just now realized that he knew virtually nothing about her.

"Why did the templars come for you?" he asked.

"I don't know. All I have are theories. Wild speculation. My father was very protective of me. I've known how to create fire my entire life but he made sure no one saw that. He used to tell me bedtime stories about the naughty children showing off their gifts and getting caught and taken away, while the good children, who used their talents in secret, would eventually become a Lord or Lady in the land of Zethar."

"Zethar?"

"My father was full of tales. Zethar was a land where all peoples lived together peacefully—Mages, Elves, Dwarves, even templars." For a moment, she was transported back to green meadows and forest glens of her childhood imagination, and heard her father's voice echo clearly in her mind. "Anyway. He was a smith, used to get me to light the forge. I suspect his competition caught wind of this and had me carted away."

"Did they treat you well, the templars?"

"On my journey to the Circle? Well, for a while I was filled with excitement. I sat in the back of the cart and asked an endless number of questions. I didn't heed their first warning to be quiet. I wasn't accustomed to adults treating me with a heavy hand, or I would have known better. One of the older templars, he was particularly irritated. He slapped me and then bound me in shackles. It was the first time I heard anyone speak of abominations. I was warned that if I tried any funny business I would be fodder for the wolves. My parents never spoke of magic. I knew I was different, but never sure how. I thought all children had this ability to make fire. The templars treated me as if I harboured a contagion, that my very glance could infect them. It was all quite confusing for me really. By the time I arrived at the Circle, I was absolutely terrified. Took me years to realize that I had done nothing wrong. Those stories got into my head."

"Yes, Templars are taught that – "

"—Every mage is a potential abomination." She used her best mockery of a Revered Mother.

"Well aren't you?" he asked. She could tell it was an honest question, but it still enraged her.

"Is every man a potential rapist?"

"Ouch! No…"

"The choice always lies before me. This is what the Chantry hates. I have no desire to hand myself over to a demon. I will face this Blight as myself and no one else."

"So it's just that simple?"

"For me it is."

"So tell me more. What else have the templars neglected to tell me?"

"How long do we have?" She smiled. "My unofficial education was just as important you know."

"What do you mean? Secret spells that you cast on unwitting templars to turn their noses into pig snouts or something equally as nefarious?"

"No, no, I mean, the stories you hear from older mages who had spent more time outside the circle than inside, or from the servants, or the odd visitor to the Circle looking for some esoteric text for an incomplete history. Having a visitor to the Circle provided weeks of entertainment." She told him of a recent event with a certain Brother Genitivi. She and Jowan had heard no less than seven reasons for his visit, including one lascivious tale involving his escape from the clutches of a lecherous Chantry sister.

"How about from the templars?" She was under the impression that Alistair was desperate to hear something honourable when it came to Circle Mages and Chantry Templars. She took a deep breath and continued.

"I did my best to avoid them. While I felt safe from persecution from the outside, Chantry threats loomed daily. There was only one thing that was truly mine to possess that did not require permission to have." She sat crossed legged, and for the first time realized that there were no repercussions for her opinions. It felt wonderful.

"What was that?" He asked, hanging on her every word.

"My feelings; they were mine and no one else's. If I went about my business and hid my anger from the templars and senior enchanters, I could despise them as much as I pleased. But one small misstep, an exposed fit of anger, or the unrequited feelings for a templar, then it was the Rite of Tranquility. I feared that more than becoming an abomination."

Alistair attempted to add to the conversation, but Nuraya barrelled on, energized with the realization that she was free to say what was on her mind. She did not have to carefully consider the implications of the thoughts she'd locked in her mind for all those years. "During my last year in the Circle, there was a young templar, Ser Cullen. You could tell he was green as the spring fields. I think he came from a farm somewhere in the Bannorn. Anyway, he always seemed to appear out of nowhere. My friend Jowan would say he was sweet on me. That completely terrified me."

"But what would be the harm in that?"

"Alistair, what would happen if I were to chase these whims? I didn't fear Ser Cullen as much as I feared his chain of command. The Chantry does not look fondly on any type of relationship within the Circle. They turn a blind eye to trysts between mages, but with one of their own? There are templars who will lure young mages into a sordid affair and plot to report her advances to the Knight-Commander, who usually demands the Rite to ensure the problem is settled. How could I ever be sure that Ser Cullen was not involved in such a plot?"

"Puppy love tempered with conspiracy, how romantic," he muttered.

"No matter." She leaned back on her hands, stretching her feet toward the fire, basking in the heat. "I guess this Blight brought out something good for a change."

"Yes, nothing more inspiring than a Darkspawn hoard and an Archdemon." Alistair reached over to the woodpile and threw on a log. Sparks reeled in the air and the fresh wood cracked in the intense heat. He settled back down, his hand, barely touching hers. Beneath her robes, her heart pounded, she glanced down at herself just to make sure it was not obvious. Part of her, the part that she understood the least, wanted to take his hand affectionately, but her fear immobilized her. She was afraid of revealing herself completely, afraid of rejection, afraid of his past, afraid of her future. He spoke about their route to Lake Calenhad and debated whether they would encounter Darkspawn there or on a lesser-known path farther north. Nuraya was aware that her mind was focused on the proximity of their hands, and for that she felt small and foolish, and very much not like a Grey Warden.

She rose to her feet, and brushed the dirt from her robes. "Best get some sleep for our long journey tomorrow."

"I'll take the first watch. I'll ask Sten to take the next. Go rest and save your energy. I'm sure there are plenty of Hurlocks you can turn into toads later." He grabbed her hand. She maintained her composure, despite the surging panic.

"Thank you," he said.

She cocked her head, grasping for the reason. She came up with many, none of which were logical or obvious. He held out the necklace, and she nodded in acknowledgement and slowly turned back to her tent, but wished she could run.

_Nuraya's story has been calling out to me for a long time. The tale is complete and I intend on posting two chapters a week. I'd like to offer a massive thank-you to Kira Tamarion for her generous offer of time and help as my beta. Also a huge shout-out to DoorbellSpider for her insights, encouragement and antics. Of course, I acknowledge that this wholly inspired by Bioware, and much gratitude for allowing me to build sandcastles in their sandbox. I'd love to hear your thoughts and reviews!_


	2. Chapter 2: Shouldering Wounds

Of all the spells in her repertoire, she favored the virulent walking bomb. Her connection to the Fade was a raging river and it was intoxicating. She fixated on the bomb rune, causing her inner eye to throb. A group of genlocks thrust rusty blades and daggers at Leliana. She was holding her own valiantly; agile and balanced, she plunged a small blade into her enemy's neck. Nuraya directed her mind at the injured genlock. Weakened and bleeding, his body burst, vomiting forth masticated flesh and foul fluid that quickly infected his comrades. This ensured Leliana's advantage.

Inside her mind, she scanned the battlefield, seeking enemies lurking at the edge, waiting to engage her enemy. Her new Warden senses helped her locate a threat near a hedge of boulders behind her. She turned in time to duck the sweep of a maul, the sound of it whistled past her ears. She was no match physically for the brute, but ignited her hands and thrust a raging flame upon the beast; its putrid garments were engulfed as its flesh boiled. It snarled in agony and in anger, was too weak to counterattack. With lightning speed, Nuraya paralyzed the hurlock to help further her advantage. A final lob of fire sent the beast to the void.

She heard the impact of the shield on her shoulder before the pain registered in her mind. Darkness took her. Her first awareness was of a murky void followed by brooding clouds above her and the far away resonance of the skirmish. Fully conscious, she staggered to her feet. Her shoulder throbbed, dull pains deep within the muscle were punctuated by sharp pains, as she quickly gathered her bearings. Reaching for a healing potion, her panic surged as she realized she had none. Sten moved in to lay waste to her attacker who he proceeded to lacerate. He locked eyes with her, shouting that she was all clear. Standing between two large boulders, she appraised her party. Leliana was perched above her and nocked a flaming arrow that she launched into a throng of darkspawn surrounding Alistair. His shield cosseted him from the worst of the blows. He had a way of predicting the direction of an attack and positioned his shield accordingly.

After the last sword hit its mark and eviscerated the last of the darkspawn, silence hung in the air. The stench of death offended her senses. Nuraya was hesitant in calling this a victory. She heard the creak of Leliana drawing her bow. Sten scanned the clearing, his claymore at the ready. Alistair, in defensive form, tentatively backtracked toward Nuraya. A nagging alarm curdled the contents of her stomach. She surveyed their surroundings and focused on a footpath that led out of the forest clearing. The sound of splintering wood interrupted the lingering unearthly silence. Small poplars bent and shattered beneath the ogre. Running at full pace, it detected the company and roared. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked as its guttural voice muddled her ears. She unleashed ice aiming it directly at its head.

Thick, muscled legs braced and towered over them. Arrows sailed above Nuraya's head and landed in the beast's neck and shoulders. Some merely bounced off its rigid hide, others made shallow wounds. Leliana would need to move in closer. Sten strategically swung his blade, attempting a _Coup de Jarnac _from behind. Alistair, in most circumstances would aim at the heart, but had to settle for the spleen. She continued to invoke fire, ice, and electricity, in hopes of discovering a weakness.

The ogre bent forward and charged, ramming its horns into Sten and Alistair, knocking both to the ground. She ran between the beast and her fallen brethren. Alistair called her name as a warning. Nuraya conjured a sheet of ice in its path. Its great legs buckled beneath its mighty form and it fell, shaking the ground. She threw more ice in hopes of immobilizing it, and allowing Sten and Alistair to get on their feet. The two warriors rushed forth, with blades poised to sink into the beast's neck and chest. Leliana landed an arrow into its eye as its mighty head thrashed from side to side. Writhing in agony, the beast flailed and kicked with deadly force. Muttering a dark spell beneath her breath, she inhaled deeply, filled her lungs and mind to capacity with its remaining life-force. This was a strategy she preferred for the finale, as the effect was rather intoxicating. Dreamily, she watched Sten slice open its throat and Alistair plunge his blade into its heart. The beast went limp.

Exhausted and lightheaded, she ran toward the party. Leliana and Sten were picking the bodies for useable items. The temporary euphoria gave way to the pain in her shoulder. She used her feet to search the dead in hopes of locating an injury kit.

"I suggest we make camp and continue on tomorrow," Sten suggested. The sun slowly sank behind the hills. "We will not be fit to continue to battle through the night."

Uneasiness tainted their triumph. How many more bands continued to roam these places? Wynne and Morrigan remained at their primary camp, a day's hike away. Tonight this company would find shelter here. Darkness loomed and the Circle was at least a half day hike through the valley.

Alistair wiped his sword in the long grass. "I know of a river not too far from here. I suggest we head in that direction." He pointed his sword westward.

"Then let us make haste," Sten said.

The reek of the freshly dead Darkspawn quickened her step and desire to leave this place. In a few days, the stench of their decaying corpses would be overwhelming. Even rooks avoided this carrion. She set the clearing aflame, saving the world from their taint and filth. Together, the companions silently lumbered west.

~0oOo0~

The spoils of their small victory had only produced one injury kit. After camp was established, and Sten resumed his sentry at the perimeter, she opened the kit and called Alistair over. Blood seeped through the dirty rag bound to his forearm. In Nuraya's mind, fever and gangrene took precedence over a sore shoulder.

"Come, let me deal with that." She laid out the contents of the package in front of her and she motioned for him to sit. "That looks deep, allow me to clean it and stitch it up."

"Couldn't you just wave your hand and do your glowy blue magic?" Alistair flinched, as he eyed the needle and thread.

"Unfortunately for all of us, I am no healer." She wiped her hands in salve to prevent passing fever. She concentrated on Alistair which helped her ignore her throbbing shoulder, and passed Alistair a bottle of Antivan brandy. "Here, I found this earlier."

"Bottoms up." He groaned and drank deeply. "Where is Wynne when you need her? I much prefer a bit of glowy magic over that sharp thing in your hand."

She focused carefully as she cleaned the wound. Despite her attempts to soothe the procedure, he snarled in pain. Luckily for him, it was a clean cut and not as deep as she feared. Holding his arm steady contributed to her suffering. Thin beads of sweat formed around her hairline the more she pushed her pain aside, but at least her hands remained steady.

"I need Wynne to teach me how to heal, and I hope it's sooner than later. I was not born with that ability. I have to learn it." She wiped her brow and took a deep breath. She was relieved that Alistair was too distracted to notice her condition. Her ears started to ring, and realizing this as a sign of fainting, she picked up her pace and pierced the edges of the wound. He grabbed her arm. It was almost too much for her. She ordered him to drink, to occupy his good arm. Luckily, it didn't take long to close the wound and she packed his arm with the entire contents of a healing poultice.

Admiring the evenness of her work she said, "I guess Mother Gredna's needlework classes did me some good after all."

"Oh how cute, you stitched a little flower. Oh Maker…" he grumbled and used the brandy to forget the pain.

"You watch your tongue or I shall sew up your mouth." She winked, glad for his humor and the distraction. Her mind was like a wounded animal and wanted to hide, but she forced herself to secure the bandages.

Alistair passed her the bottle, which she accepted, hoping it would help maintain her composure. She held it up with a sort of cynical enthusiasm said "To the Grey Wardens!" She guzzled a mouthful of the strong liquor and swallowed hard.

Alistair returned the toast and called a hearty "In victory, sacrifice!"

Leliana beckoned them over to the fire. A hare roasted on a spit. "Nice work!" Alistair eyed it hungrily and inquired it would be ready to eat. At least his misery was short-lived.

"A hearty meal and a good rest shall mend our bodies and our spirits." Leliana grinned, clearly happy that her hunting expedition was both short and successful.

Alistair turned the spit and eyed the meat with a look of longing. Leliana stepped beside Nuraya and placed a hand on her injured shoulder. She stiffened then shot Leliana a glance that demanded silence. Leliana sensed her injury and drew a dagger, poked the roast and concluded the spit required a few more turns.

~0oOo0~

She slipped from camp to prepare for another exhausting day of travel. Sten was awake of course and watched her creep away from the remains of the fire. Careful not to rouse the others, she noticed how Leliana resembled a kitten curled up. Alistair coddled his wounded arm, but otherwise appeared to have fallen in that deep abyss of sleep. A part of her wanted to reach out and touch his cheek. Her waking consciousness slapped that part of mind her aside.

Sleep had eluded her, At every movement, the pain in her shoulder radiated down her back, through her arm, and up her neck. Since lying prone in the wild grass had contributed to her overall discomfort and exhaustion, she decided the fresh cool water might distract her from the sickening ache of her left side. Nuraya crouched at the edge of the meandering river.

The water reflected back a woman she could barely recognize. Dark wisps of hair escaped from its braid, her dark eyes were hollow from lack of sleep, and she hoped she was not as pale as the face in the water appeared. She let her robe drop off her shoulder. Even brush of the fabric contributed to her agony. The cool air roused her from her reverie. Desperately, she wanted to loosen her chest bindings, but decided against it in the event the pain would prevent her from putting them back on. The pain trumped her sense of propriety. Ordinarily, she would never drop her robe in the wild, and rarely allowed her bare calves to appear from under her. She lowered her hand into the cool water and then reached back and touched her shoulder. Focusing on the space between her hand and her shoulder, she evoked a healing spell. She knew enough of them by virtue of being a Circle Mage, and regretted not requesting formal training. Healers often became relegated to the role of nurse-maid and Nuraya thought it was a waste her time and skill.

_I rue the arrogance of my youth. _

Weak energy filled up that space. Healers at the Circle would say they could feel the sickness enter their mind and it was the caster's responsibility to release it back to the Maker. _What would the Maker do with all this pain?_ She wondered. _Send it back to the Mages, no doubt._

After a while she gave up, knowing that her injury was beyond her healing ability. She bowed her head and placed both of her hands over her eyes. She wanted to scream, to cry, to rage. How was she to complete the task at hand without the ability to revive herself from an injury inflicted from a blighted shield? She was no fool, and knew she would be encountering all matter of weaponry, from an inconceivable pantheon of malevolence. She swallowed hard, fighting tears, and plunged her hands into the water, bringing the stinging cold water to her eyes. At that moment, she felt a warm touch on her shoulders. She startled, realizing she had allowed her despair distract her from her surroundings.

"Makers breath…" he whispered. Her agitation paralyzed her tongue. She stared up at him.

"Your shoulder…I had no idea." Alistair looked down at his bandaged arm and then fixed his gaze on her intense purple and yellow bruise.

He motioned to unwrap his bandage. "Here, I'm sure you can use some of this poultice – "

She grasped his arm, motioning him to stop, and with her free hand, pulled her robes over her shoulder, trying not to wince in pain.

"A festering wound will do us all great deal more harm than mending my shoulder."

She placed her palm on the point where the pain radiated outward." This might be a hairline fracture. I am no bonesetter, so I'll have to suffer through the last leg of our journey until I can find a skilled mage." She did not mention how she regretted not bringing Wynne. She already felt a fool for that.

She sat back down at the river's edge. Alistair stood before her with crossed arms.

"Now is not the time to become our martyr." He arched an eyebrow and held out a hand. "Come back to the camp. At least let me fix you something to eat. You've barely eaten and I doubt you have slept at all."

Completely drained, she didn't even have the energy to argue with him. "Fine. However, I expect only the finest cheese and sweetbread."

"Shall I hand feed you grapes from the vine as well?"

"That would be lovely."

~0oOo0~

This was the reason why she tried to hide her injury. Leliana hovered about her attempting to assist in every possible fashion. Alistair demanded that he carry her share of the weight. Sten suggested that he could carry her. The company debated over how they would get to the Circle, what strategy they would adopt in the event they were attacked, or how long they should camp out. Nuraya lay in the tall grass and covered her eyes with the crook of her good arm.

"See! She's exhausted, we cannot move her." Alistair debated with Sten, who thought the best strategy would be to move out this very moment and make for the Circle by nightfall. Sten suggested leaving her there until they could bring help. To Nuraya's relief, Leliana and Alistair ignored him.

"The poor dear. She can take my rations for the day, I am used to fasting in the name of the Maker." Leliana cooed.

"I am not dead nor am I unconscious." She growled and silenced to the party. "And this foolishness is far more torture than the pain in my shoulder. Let's make for the Circle today." She slowly sat up and winced. Looking at her companions, she noticed all three staring at her in some manner of pity or concern. She rolled her eyes.

"Might I assist." Sten offered his hand. It seemed he could lift her right over his shoulder if he did not temper his strength. "Allow me to wrap your shoulder. It will limit your movement but perhaps offer you the required stamina to make our destination."

"That would be useful, thank you Sten." She appreciated how he could focus on the moment as opposed to resuming his dissent of their current plan.

~0oOo0~

At the top of a particularly steep hill, she fell to her knees. She had not intended for this to happen, or for any of what transpired as of late. Alistair ran toward her and carefully helped her up and she refused any more assistance that did not require walking. Regardless, they had made decent time that day and could start to make out the spire of the Circle Tower peering from a distant haze. Alistair and Sten estimated a three hour walk remained. In her mind she could hear _'but, it would be within the hour if it were not for the Mage.'_

She stood and steadied herself on her staff, realizing she was beginning to resemble a crone. Sweating profusely, she spoke with great difficulty. "Leliana and Sten, I recommend you go on ahead of Alistair and I. Hold the ferry."

"We could send a templar on horse." Leliana suggested.

Nuraya held up her hand. That would be her ultimate humiliation, to have a templar fetch the free mage unable to continue on her quest. Alistair must have sensed this, and added, "We'll be fine. Send out a search party if we've not arrived by nightfall."

They nodded and jaunted over the hill and down into the valley. Alistair sat down and opened his wineskin. "Drink. It's water."

"Have any of that Antivan swill left?" She asked, remaining on her feet. She knew there was less effort involved in standing.

"Why, yes I do. But no civilized Fereldan takes their drink before noon."

"Seems you have mistaken me for civilized…" She held out her hand and Alistair passed her the bottle. She guzzled, then wanted to wretch but pushed down the liquor. She took two swallows, then three.

"Watch it now, wouldn't want you to be completely off your dragon when you have to meet the First Enchanter."

"I saved his bleeding Tower from Uldred. You think he might be just a little accommodating." Finishing the remainder of the contents, she tossed the bottle aside. "Let's go."

They walked down the hill. Sten and Leliana were already out of sight. Warmth spread over her body and she told Alistair about the first time she had gotten drunk.

"I was sixteen years old. My friend Anders, who was my age, found a bottle of Orlesian wine that had been hidden in the back of an herb cupboard. One evening, we snuck into a rarely used storage room and drank the entire contents." Nuraya paused as she remembered the scene. "At first, we howled with laughter and managed to rile a templar with a tiny glow fly that would swoop and threaten to sting the guard. I was giggling behind a corner and managed to snap it out of existence when the Templar decided to unsheathe his blade."

"And then what happened?" Alistair asked.

"I proceeded to keck in a barrel and was confined to my room for fear of spreading a fever throughout the Circle."

"Oh, Maker! What a waste of a fine vintage!"

Her intoxication suppressed the injury's wrath and offered her the required numbness to continue. Alistair kept up the pace by relating some tales involving other Grey Wardens and their shameless revelry. She gathered that few women joined the Wardens and fewer still were mages. Double trouble she was. Her bitterness gave way to a sort of jealousy, a quiet desperation that ached as deeply as her shoulder. It was a pain that hungered for camaraderie they must have shared. Mages possessed a certain kind of bond she supposed: fear, captivity and magic. Perhaps their lack of choice weakened this bond. She trudged silently toward the lake and listened wistfully, wishing their hike would last longer. _This must be strong brandy if I am wishing for that._

Arriving at the dock, they noticed a solitary figure, waiting by a skiff. Quickening their pace they made their way down the hill, as quickly as Nuraya could manage, and approached the waiting Templar.

"Well met, Wardens. Your party was taken to the tower some hours ago. Given your company's service to the tower, I escorted the young lady and the Qunari upon their arrival."

"Much appreciated Ser…" Her mind was not as sharp as she would have liked, and could not determine if she had forgotten his name or had never met his acquaintance.

"Ser Guthrie, at your service." He nodded and helped the mage into the boat. "The lake is calm and clear. We should be to the tower by dark." Alistair reported their recent days to Ser Guthrie. In turn, the Templar offered reports on recent skirmishes with small rabbles of Darkspawn near the lake. From his reports, the situation at the tower remained calm with no further incidents of demonic possession.

Soon, she focused on rhythm of the oars disturbing the still water of the lake. A mist hovered over the water as the shore was swallowed whole by the cool, formless grey. Shivering, she sat on the bottom of the boat, propping her back up with her pack. The pain was there, yes, still there, haunting and rolling through her back. She struggled to focus on the conversation between the two men. Their voices tended to fade out, sounding at a great distance and the world slowly, in blinking intervals, darkened.

Sluggishly, she could hear Alistair shouting. Immediately concerned, but overwhelmingly perplexed, she struggled for consciousness. So accustomed was she of being on constant vigil, she completely forgot of her present situation. She thought she had been at camp, and perhaps Alistair was sounding the alarm of an attack. She struggled to rise, but felt the presence of a strong hand holding her back. _Since when do I rest on the sidelines when my party is under attack?_

"I need a skilled healer!" Alistair shouted. Her memories rushed back and she recalled the trek and Ser Guthrie's boat. She did not need to remember the pain. It screamed its presence and consumed her.

* * *

_Again, a massive thanks to my patient beta Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider. Your encouragement and suggestions are amazing! Nuraya appreciates all the fine writing staff at Bioware for creating her universe. And I'd love to hear from YOU dear reader. All reviews, are welcome! _


	3. Chapter 3: A Circle Favour

Although stiff and groggy, Nuraya felt a great weight lift when she awoke. Sitting up in the cool dark room, she realized that she lay in a bunk once used by a Circle apprentice. For a moment, she was consumed with a sense of loathing and anger about this place. _How many hours did I wonder what lie on the other side of these walls? How many times did I wish I had no connection to the Fade?_ She thought about the uncounted days and weeks she spent hating the Chantry and hating the Mages who defended them.

Returning to the room, she noticed a corner of the vast hall had been rearranged to accommodate the apprentices. The rest looked like a warehouse: beds, armoires and trunks all stacked neatly in rows. She eyed the space and tried to find her former accommodations. Desks and chairs were now piled in an intricate, yet organized heap, with no sign of her old trunk. She stretched her shoulder, extended her arm in all directions and was satisfied that a talented healer had tended to her. With the absence of pain came another sensation: hunger. She had no idea what time it was or whether she'd be searching for breakfast or supper. She assumed it was the middle of the day as she was the only one in bed. The sound of soft footsteps approached. From the dark, a female shadow appeared, and then she recognized a familiar flash of brilliant red hair.

"Petra! Am I to thank you for this?" She rotated her shoulder a couple times to show that all had returned to normal.

"Yes…Warden Amell." She said resolutely and smiled warmly. Petra sat on the bed and examined her arm, asking about Wynne.

"Wynne is excellent, Petra, and she's so helpful. We're lucky to have her."

"Take good care of her, then." Petra winked. "Your other companions are on the second floor. We set them up in the men's quarters. Great Maferath, they are a noisy group! How do you manage?"

Nuraya giggled and gently laid her hand on Petra's and reminisced on the lighter, more insignificant events from the Circle. Petra spoke of Jowan's escapades, before he had fled. Nuraya's face darkened and she sighed deeply.

"Do you have news of him?" Petra was concerned. She had kept an eye on this impish lad for years. She had even approached First Enchanter Irving asking him to allow Jowan to take his Harrowing. Nuraya also thought that with some discipline and confidence, he would serve the Circle well. Nuraya knew that Irving had mulled over Petra's appeal and if it weren't for Jowan's incessant escapades with the Chantry sisters, he may have found himself cleaning floors at the Circle as opposed to stewing in a Redcliffe jail.

Nuraya detailed her recent encounter with the blood mage, and how his actions were the reason she found herself back at the Circle. She also wondered what happened to Anders. His absence during her last visit greatly concerned her.

"Where is Anders? Please tell me he survived."

Petra never had the same patience for Anders as Nuraya had. She rolled her eyes.

"He's here. Hid the entire time Uldred occupied the tower. Fool of a boy."

Nuraya groaned. She was not surprised. He was much more vocal of his disdain for Circle-Chantry politics. How he'd managed to evade Tranquility was a mystery to most mages in Kinloch Hold. She guessed she had more influence with the First Enchanter than she gave herself credit. Quickly, she changed the subject.

"Petra, I've a favor to ask of you."

"Anything, my friend. What do you need?" Nuraya could tell that Petra was eager to help in any way.

"Grant me your healing skills. I need a teaching from the Creation School."

Gravely, Petra nodded. No mage was to accept or offer training to another without a senior enchanter's permission. This is why Nuraya worked so hard at camp, to show to Wynne she was ready for a new transmission of Creation knowledge. Either Wynne was not satisfied or not paying attention. Asking for new skills was akin to admitting one's lack of qualification. Her natural abilities allowed her to advance independently with primal magic; the Circle mandated that she receive formal instruction for any skill that was not innate. Both mages were aware of the implications and enormity of this seemingly small request. Nuraya loathed to break the rules, and feared that she would bring dishonour upon Grey Wardens in the eyes of the Chantry. Without Duncan, she was left to make these decisions on her own. _This is healing magic, not blood magic. What harm can come of this?_

"Meet me in the basement tonight. Try and slip past the templars and use the back stairwell. Tell no one. Oh my dear, you have no idea how things have been since you were last here."

Quizzically, Nuraya asked, "I stopped Uldred and I was able to convince Knight-Commander Greagoir to not seek the Rite of Annulment. I thought the mages were on their way to rebuilding. Tell me everything."

"Sweet Andraste, it's getting so much worse. Sometimes it is hard to decide whether demonic possession or Chantry control is more tolerable. Since Uldred, the Chantry continues to rule us with an iron fist. The older templars are becoming crueller and more paranoid. No misstep or perceived misstep is tolerated. This week alone, we lost five apprentices to the Rite of Tranquility. More and more mages arrive at the Circle every day. We can hardly support ourselves, let alone the new influx from the West Hills. Some of these mages are mere card readers for pity's sake. We offer them lodging and employment for their own protection, but the Chantry's squeeze is felt by us all. Please, if your position as a Grey Warden has any pull, please think of us if any opportunities arise. I beg you. I don't know how much more I can tolerate. Life on the run is beginning to seem like my best option." To have Petra discussing escape was of great concern. This meant the situation was as dire as she claimed.

"You have my word Petra. But please, the hills are polluted with Darkspawn. Try and bear this situation until I stop this Blight. Please. I don't know how long it will take, but I assure you that the Circle is safer."

She meant that. Perhaps her earlier assessment that the Circle lacked the companionship and commitment of the Grey Warden's was unfair. Until joining the Circle was no longer akin to a life sentence, all mages would feel this uncertainty.

Petra patted the bed, and smiled. "Enough doom and destruction my friend, come let us find some breakfast Get dressed and I'll wait for you in the hall."

Nuraya rose from the bed and searched for her belongings, and found that Petra had folded them neatly and placed then in the trunk at the foot of her bed. She dressed quickly, and grabbed her staff and her pack.

"I must speak with First Enchanter Irving…" Nuraya had weighed the situation. An early meeting with Irving would be expected. But, her companions would insist on a hasty departure. An overnight stay following such a critical discussion would indeed raise suspicion. However, she absolutely needed to heal before they ventured into the Darkspawn infested countryside.

"First Enchanter is in Denerim. He is expected to return tomorrow."

"Most excellent, Petra." She grinned and they headed to the dining room.

"Oh, by the way," Petra offhandedly remarked, "that other Warden keeps asking about you. He'll be relieved you haven't been taken to the Fade, and I will be relieved that he'll no longer be asking."

_Andraste's burning hair, is there nothing easy about this?_

~0oOo0~

"Well, look who's decided to get out of bed!" Alistair said, as he turned from his bench and smiled. It brought enough light to the dimly lit room. She looked down for fear of giving away her feelings with a returning grin.

Nuraya strode to the table with the auburn-haired mage a few steps behind. Several mages sat together and glanced up, acknowledging the tales that swept through the halls like a wind before a rainstorm. The dining room was like the Apprentice quarters; a majority of the furnishings were stacked and awaiting organization. The corner nearest the hearth offered a small sense of reassurance that Circle life was slowly returning to normal. The dining room was the heart of the Circle's social life. She spent many hours here listening to gossip and socializing with her friends. Sharing meals in the dining room was the one place that she could momentarily forget that she was forbidden to leave.

Nuraya did not recognize many of the mages. She hoped Anders would be there, and she was disappointed when he wasn't. _Off sulking somewhere, _she imagined. Although the diners were huddled along one grand table, she could tell that the mages were trying to mind their own business. Surely, speaking to her companions would not raise the templars' suspicions? A templar was posted at the door, as usual, and blankly stared forward. He too was a new face in her familiar surroundings, but the sensation of always being watched remained.

The fire crackled softly as the group dined on a hearty, yet simple, breakfast of oatmeal, dried fruits, and ham. She pulled up a chair to set with Sten, Leliana and Alistair. Petra bridged the divide between her new companions and the mages.

"This is my friend Petra. She's the one responsible for my healing." Nuraya nodded in Petra's general direction and began to serve herself a healthy portion of breakfast into the simple wooden bowl. Everyone, except Sten, offered warm salutations in return.

"I see that Circle is starting to return to normal," Leliana observed. Subtly, Nuraya shot Petra a knowing look, as a sign of reassurance. The concerns she had raised regarding templar cruelty could never be uttered in the open.

"Yes, it's been a challenge. We're doing the best we can and sheltering many mages who have fled the outlying villages from Darkspawn attacks. Supplies are difficult to procure, as you can imagine. We thank the Maker for our Chantry protectors."

Nuraya was impressed with Petra's feigned sincerity, but knew she once embellished her own speech with similar lies. Leliana seemed contented with the statement, despite that it had not been spoken for her benefit.

"Where is the First Enchanter? I expected Irving to tend to our wounded companion, given the importance of our task." Alistair winked at Nuraya and nudged her leg under the table. She caught the flirtation and felt her cheeks burn as she adjusted the dried fruit within her oatmeal.

"The First Enchanter will return from Denerim tomorrow. He met with the new Arl of Denerim and the Grand Cleric to see about some supplies that we must have," Petra said.

Nuraya watched her companions' faces fall. Delays on important missions were always greeted with disappointment. Yes, given the Arl Eamon's condition and Connor's possession it would have been preferable to avoid an extended stay. She didn't think she was risking too much by staying on a few more hours than expected. _A delay was more preferable than a death, wasn't it? _

To hide her relief, she added, "Morrigan and Wynne head for Castle Redcliffe today. Wynne will ensure the Arl and his son are not harmed in the meantime."

Sten remained silent through the meal and paid little attention to the breakfast chatter. Although he had listened intently to the critical reports, he now appeared to be quite alone. Somehow, Nuraya did not this was sadness. He appeared contented, if it was at all possible to interpret such a response from him. _He must know to hold his tongue whist in the company of mages. _

Following breakfast, she returned her belongings to the men's quarters on the second floor, across from Alistair's bunk. She wanted to emphasize that her place no longer belonged in the Circle and wondered who else might interpret these subtle messages. In some ways, the long dull waiting was the worst part of this quest. Nuraya took the opportunity to organize a few things and decided to use the Circle's facilities to wash what could dry overnight.

She looked down at her robe. An ancient Tevinter script was stitched in lyrium-dipped silverite thread along the collar, cuffs and edging. Her education taught her that these incantations channeled power from the Fade and mingled with hers. She knew this generally, but could only pronounce the odd verb here and there. She stared at the flourish of the arcane script often enough in her travels, but matter how much she studied, the translation never became clear. Other than this detailing, the robe was thread-bare and quite plain. One of the hidden pockets for her poisons, lyrium and herbs was torn. The belt that secured it was made of ox-blood colored leather. It too was in need of some stitching which she decided to attend to later.

After she laundered her things, she returned from the water closet to find Leliana and Alistair playing a game of cards. Sten was eying the length of his sword with a whetstone in hand. Beside him lay Alistair's sword and Leliana's daggers.

"Why don't you join us, Leliana needs a good beating." Alistair moaned and threw down his hand. Leliana giggled and collected the cards.

"Maybe later. I'm heading over to the library or what's left of it. I think I'll take the chance to study up while I'm here."

Alistair addressed the group, "Attention everyone! Let it be known that our Warden stands in the great company of Garahel the Brave, Kell the Ash, and Asturian the Steadfast. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you…Amell the Bookish!"

Nuraya mockingly scowled and rolled her eyes. "Did you hear the tale how Amell the Bookish forget how to paralyze the ogre before he gored Warden Alistair's innards? All because she hadn't studied."

"Yes, I know that tale! It's part of the Great Blight Cycle. Lady Cecelia would read me dramatic tales of Amell the Bookish when I was a girl in Orlais." Leliana chuckled as she absent-mindedly shuffled the deck.

Alistair grinned with the charm that rescued her from dark thoughts, and through many long evenings by the fire. Part of her wanted to stay and enjoy the folly, but her recent shoulder injury reminded her otherwise.

"Enjoy the rest my friends. This may be the last dry bunk we enjoy." She secured her pack over her shoulder and headed toward the door. "I will join you for dinner. Try not to rile the mages, Alistair."

As she turned the corner to the hallway, she could hear "But my holiday _requires_ that I rile the mages!"

~0oOo0~

She was relieved that the library's section on the Primal School had remained unscathed from the violence it suffered. She remembered confronting a number of Uldred's supporters here and avoided using fire. Burning this glorious cache of knowledge would have been criminal. Often during her childhood, she would escape to these quiet corners to get away from the depression of her fellow apprentices. She explored the stacks, pulled the volumes that she was looking for, and piled them on a table. Reading was a welcomed change from the long hours of travel.

Some hours had passed and she realized that her eyes were beginning to strain in the warm glow of the candle. Surrounded by stacks of leather-bound volumes, she was studying firestorm incantations. She rubbed her eyes and looked up. Alistair appeared in the chair across the desk. Startled, she sat up straight.

"Andraste's smoldering pyre! You always seem to materialize when I least suspect it!" She set the book down and looked around for some indication of the time. Hopefully he had not interpreted her jest as irritation.

"I came to check up on you. I grew rather weary of losing to Leliana or watching Sten polish the leather. What's that you're reading?"

"This?" She closed the book enough to read the title properly, "Primal Flames, a codex by First Enchanter Josephus."

"Riveting," he said sarcastically, "unless there's a chapter on a wayward mage setting the unruly templar's britches ablaze."

"No, but only because it was written before the templars had any involvement with mages, before there was a Circle to make us all play nice."

He rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. "So then, Amell the Bookish, tell me more. My templar training involved little having to do with books."

"Ah. That explains everything." She winked playfully and set the volume in front of Alistair and flipped the well-worn parchment to a previous chapter.

"See here, this is the basic fire spell." She pointed to a diagram of a rune, embellished with an accomplished calligrapher's illuminations. The burnished highlights caught the glow of the candle and animated the illustration.

"It looks like a rune," Alistair observed.

"It is. It's called _kalle_. When I'm in the middle of battle, I bring this image to the centre of my mind."

"Sounds complicated, especially when a maggoty Hurlock is barreling toward you with a sharp set of pointy things."

"Well, that's not all, I have to see the rune and then hear its key."

"Its key?"

"Yes, you know." Nuraya hummed the basic musical scales all Ferelden children learn from their mother. "Each rune has a key, so I conjure the shape of the rune, identify its name and then hear its key. I'm not advanced enough in my training to completely understand how my connection to the Fade translates these elements into an actual ball of fire but it does. Actually, only boring scholars really understand that. It's not really all that important to know."

"Wow. I had no idea how the glowy fingers work. Sounds so…complicated. You can do all of that at once? Sounds like a lot to think about in a pinch."

"I guess that's what makes me a mage. It just…happens."

"So if I worked really hard to see the rune and hear the little tune, then can I hurl a flaming ball at Morrigan?"

"Well, since you were not born with a connection to the Fade, you may as well be standing there with your britches around your ankles. This is just an elementary spell, something all mages learn when they take their apprentice training. I was born with the image in my mind and didn't have to learn it." She flipped the pages ahead. "This is flaming weapons." She pointed to the diagram of a three-dimensional cube. Each facet had its own rune.

"To cast this I have to visualize this cube in my mind with each rune in its precise location. Two of the runes are _kalle_, but see here, _telum_, means weapon and _ignire_ means to set with flame. _Praesidi _tells the spell to protect the bearer of the weapon and the last rune is the best of all… _hostibus __noceretur_..."

"Which means kill the beastie?"

"Exactly. Now don't forget each side has a key, so that has to be worked into the vision."

"That's why those nifty flaming swords spells you cast don't burn my hands off! I have to say, the first time you did that I was about to pommel you on the head."

She chuckled. "But if I remember correctly, that was in the Kocari Wilds and you fire roasted your fair share of Hurlocks that day."

"So, you already know these."

She was surprised he had kept his attention this long. Not many outside the Circle had the patience for primal magic geometry.

"Yes. This afternoon, I've mastered another." She flipped forward to a complex diagram of a hexagonal prism. "This is inferno. It creates a firestorm in a set boundary. I'll cast it to weaken a large group of beasties in the distance. I'll have to add some fire protection to your armour, because if you get caught in this, it will burn your britches off."

Alistair sat back and digested everything she had told him. He crossed his arms and then leaned back in the chair. She left him with his thoughts, momentarily, and returned to the inferno diagram. She had spent her afternoon memorizing these runes and associating each with their keys. She had scrawled everything she needed to remember on a piece of parchment, in case she needed reminding later.

"So tell me," Alistair asked after an extended silence, "if you had the choice, would you become a mage?"

She set down her parchment and pulled the wispy tendrils of the quill through her fingers. Leaning back in her chair, she mulled over the question.

"I suppose it depends. If the Chantry had rein over mages as it does now, then absolutely not. Who would _choose_ a life here? To have blood samples taken so escape was impossible, to be watched and feared, to be the reason for a parent's grief, to sit at the window and look out upon the countryside and wonder what it would be like to live unnoticed and completely irrelevant…"

"And if not for the Chantry?"

"Well, you have to admit, the ability to cast a flaming fireball is most excellent. Too bad the Chantry had to ruin it for everyone." With that she pointed and flicked the quill as if she were about to summon a small, inconsequential spell.

"Interesting. I learned it was the mages who provoked the Chantry." She could tell he was teasing her and that they were not truly having a debate on the matter.

"Oh, I learned that too. Why don't we just lock up every child in Thedas until they learn how to behave? See how that works."

"Well it worked for me!" They laughed out loud, but Nuraya could sense the age-old tension between mages and templars right below the surface.

"I have one desire I wish to admit to…" she leaned forward on the desk in a manner a school girl might whisper gossip to her companion. Alistair mirrored this gesture in return.

"I have this unrequited desire to…" Nuraya paused and grinned fiendishly. Alistair's eyes widened and she caught a glimpse at what might be the beginnings of a blush.

"…wield a sword in battle."

"Are you serious?" he grinned.

"You brought up the 'what if' scenario!"

"You've never fought with a sword before?"

"Never. Not that a templar would allow me within reach of a weapon."

"Point taken. Someday when we have some time on our hands, I'll train you."

"You would do that?" She exclaimed, excited at the prospect.

"My Chantry upbringing tells me this is a very bad idea, but my Warden training says that some rules should be bent in the name of a Blight."

She agreed and believed every self-respecting Grey Warden should have some skill with a blade. She imagined herself as a battle-mage Grey Warden. All of a sudden, this momentary and fleeting observation kindled a greater insight. The concerns about her ability to end the Blight were unexpectedly absolved. She realized all her second thoughts were a waste of time. Everything felt new and made sense. She wasn't just an inconsequential Circle mage. She could be whomever she wished. The small voice that worried over the adequacy of her skills, that tried to convince her that she lacked ability to lead this company to their goal, and questioned her place amongst the Wardens, ceased. For the first time, she saw herself from a different angle, much like the geometric runes she had studied all afternoon. At this moment, she was determined to be the Grey Warden she was meant to be.

Snapping out of her enlightenment, she returned to the table in the Circle library, and was unsure if an awkward silence had passed.

"I'm serious, I hope you realize."

"Oh, I know you're serious. And do you know what I am serious about, right at this very moment?" He leaned in closer and roused the mage's intrigue.

"What's that?" she whispered. She was dangerously close and that unrelenting part of her that yearned for him. She allowed these feelings to percolate. He paused and looked into her eyes, a glance that set her inside aflutter.

"I am seriously ready to eat. I came to fetch you for dinner."

~0oOo0~

Everyone retired early, whether out of boredom or to take advantage of sleeping in a bed. She lay in her bunk trying not to move or close her eyes. Doggedly, she fought her exhaustion in order to make her way to the basement to meet with Petra as soon as the bell rang for First Day Chant. She turned and saw that Alistair was looking straight at her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked under his breath.

"Not when I can feel your stare piercing me in the back!" she whispered, trying to avoid waking the others. She could hear Sten's faint chuff that cued her he was actually asleep, a sound that rarely escaped his lips when they camped. Leliana did not move.

"Are you worried about meeting with the First Enchanter tomorrow?"

"Irving? No, I'm sure he'll help."

Of course, nothing would have been better than to whisper across the bunk for hours. She remained quiet, wishing that he would fall asleep.

"You're feeling better, I hope," she heard Alistair mutter after a bit.

"I'm tired is all, we'll talk at breakfast." She hoped this was all she needed to say. She rolled over feeling slightly miserable that she could not indulge this desire. To pass the time, she visualized the inferno rune. Wiping her mind, she then imagined their distinctive keys. She had the training to know how to quietly practice this without setting the room ablaze; it was in fact the expectations of all mages to engage in such meditations. She heard Alistair's regular breathing and then became anxious of the time.

A distant resonance vibrated from the floors below, signalling the start of First Day Chant. In the hallway she could hear a couple of templars heading toward the bell's origin. She waited until the hallway was silent and checked that Alistair had finally fallen asleep. Slipping out of bed, she avoided looking at him, thinking her very glance might waken him. She padded down the room toward the water closet, hoping if anyone did catch her they would think she was using the facilities.

In the dark corridor there was no sign of templars or wandering mages. She slipped into the shadows and made for the back stairwell. As she descended, she faintly heard the Chantry sister's devotions to Andraste and the Maker. First Day Chant was offered on the first hour of each day and was also the hour that mages often got up to no good. Quickening her pace on tiptoes, she caught a whiff of incense as she continued to descend into the basement. Exiting the stairwell, she scurried for the herbalist's counter. Relieved, she saw Petra sitting cross-legged behind it.

"Good First Day, Warden," Petra whispered. "Up to join the sisters in the chapel?"

"You have no idea how indebted I am to you. Do you want to learn any Primal spells?" Nuraya assumed the same position on the cold stone floor.

"Please, rest your mind. I'll do anything to help stop a Blight, but if anyone saw me use undocumented Primal school spells, there would be an investigation. No more worries about me. I rest all my hopes on you. Did anyone see you?"

Nuraya shook her head and glanced over her shoulder. The women quickly commenced the transmission. Petra handed her a small vial of lyrium. Together, they dipped their thumbs and anointed each other between the eyes and then drank the remaining contents. Placing their hands on the other's shoulders, they leaned forward so their foreheads touched. Nuraya breathed deeply and closed her eyes. Petra's head was cool against hers and she found herself synchronizing her breaths with Petra's rhythmic breathing.

Immediately, her mind became a frenetic vortex of swirling geometric patterns. Pyramids, tetrahedrons and other polygons flooded into her consciousness. Individually, the spells appeared to her, each unique rune on their surface materialized and then in elegant animation, deconstructed into their flattened form. Then, the shapes reassembled and rotated on their axes. They were of a style unique to the creation school. Soft hues and spiral lyrium scripts illuminated the darkness of her thoughts. Sweet tones and discordant melodies throbbed in her ears. Each side revealed its song, side-by-side, and then altogether. Her temples ached as the lyrium rushed through her entire body. Its warmth rushed to her fingertips and the corners of her eyes tingled. A climax of all shapes, tones and runes appeared simultaneously. Both women trembled with the intensity of the transmission and as suddenly as they began, they were repelled from one another.

Nuraya leaned back and inhaled deeply again to hamper the rushing visions.

Petra wiped her forehead and stood. "Quickly, back to your bunk."

Nuraya sensed Petra's near panic.

"You leave first." Nuraya tried to sound reassuring. "I will wait a moment so we are not together. If you are questioned, tell them you heard someone in the herb cupboard."

"Take this in case." Petra handed her a pouch of herbs. Nuraya stuck her nose inside and knew immediately it was a sleeping tea. Before she could offer more assurances, Petra was gone.

While she waited, she poked around an herb cabinet under the counter to take stock of what remained. Tempted, she wanted to replenish some elfroot and deep mushroom for healing poultices and injury kits, however, she knew the Circle would have their own sick and infirm to manage. There would be plenty of opportunities to procure the herbs in the wild and from the merchants that would cross her path over the next few months.

She inhaled again, recalling her errands with Senior Enchanter Leorah. She had not seen her recently and feared the worst. _Surely she had the skill to survive what Uldred unleashed?_ The pungent fragrance conjured many memories of her youth: hours spent as a girl identifying and sketching various species, the first potion she mixed, the first time she snuck here as a teen to scavenge the ingredients for a love potion that Anders and Jowan dared her to mix. She would never forget the terrible diarrhea that it caused her. She laughed to herself again because she had completely forgotten who she was trying to attract.

"Pssst!"

Startled, Nuraya turned to see Anders face peering from the other side of the storeroom door.

"Anders! What in the Maker's name are you doing here?"

"The senior enchanters forbid me to see you. They think you'll fill my mind with ridiculous ideas about joining the Wardens. I was sneaking about during First Day Chant and saw you down here. The better question is what are _you_ doing here?" He grinned mischievously.

Nuraya started to panic. Although overjoyed to see Anders, she did not want to cause any trouble. Especially not after breaking Circle protocol with Petra.

"You've got to get back upstairs! What if they catch us Anders?"

It was beginning to feel like old times. She was always wary of following Anders on his many missions. She was usually the one who ended up in trouble for whatever happened.

"Well then you'll just have to recruit me and let me tag along."

"If I could, I would, Anders. But I don't know how. There is a ritual…the Joining…it's very dangerous, but I don't know how to do it."

"Ooooh! Danger! You know how I love danger! What about that other Warden? I bet you he knows! Let's go find him." As he confidently strode forward, Nuraya pushed him back into the storeroom.

"You are being ridiculous. And he doesn't know the ritual." Nuraya turned her head and heard footsteps approaching. "Great Maferath! Someone is coming! Hide!" Anders retreated back into the storeroom and Nuraya shut the door.

"Is there something I can help you with Serrah?" An unknown and accusatory voice echoed from the main door. Nuraya scrubbed her forehead with the back of her head to erase any evidence of the illicit ritual. She prayed that Anders would behave and not raise any suspicions.

"Just helping myself to a sleeping tea…" she turned and saw the young templar approaching her. "Ser Cullen! I wondered if you remained at the Circle. How are you?"

She recalled the prison Uldred had conjured to trap Cullen during the Demonic siege. Writhing in pain, he had refused to reason with her, convinced she was a demon conjured to torment him even as she vowed to free him. Not seeing him during the immediate aftermath of Uldred's destruction, Nuraya figured he was sent abroad to convalesce.

"I've recovered, Warden Amell." Cullen relaxed and approached. "The nightmares have subsided, but otherwise I'm still fit to remain on duty. I've just received word that I will be transferred to Kirkwall once it is confirmed that the Circle is deemed safe."

Nuraya raised an eyebrow. "I thought that we assured this weeks ago?" She masked her suspicions and hostility toward the Chantry, a skill still keenly sharp despite her absence from these walls. "And please, it's Nuraya. No need for such formalities among friends." She hoped this would distract Cullen from raising any misgivings about her midnight wandering.

Cullen seemed awkward in front of her. He crossed his arms and tried to contain a wide smile. Each time she looked directly at him, he either looked up at the ceiling or scanned the room.

"It's good to see you again, Nuraya. I can't tell you how many times I have heard your name mentioned over these past weeks. And yes, the Chantry and the Circle are indebted for your service. I don't make these assessments about the Circle's security. This is what the Knight-Commander tells me. But, for what it's worth, it's been routine to the point of boredom. What brings you back? Will you be staying long?"

"I hope these tales you hear about me do not exaggerate my actions, Cullen. I've returned to ask a favour of the First Enchanter and I await his return from Denerim. My companions and I will leave as soon as I speak with him."

"Actually, he and I arrived a few hours ago. I am sorry you can't extend your stay, but from what I understand, a Grey Warden is in high demand as of late."

Nuraya could tell there was something else he wanted to admit, but for whatever reason, refused. For the sake of propriety, she continued with small talk, but in reality wanted to get rid of him, deal with Anders, and find her way back to her bunk.

"Was I that careless that I roused your attention down here?" she asked.

"I'm on duty and completing a security check. The Knight-Commander wants to ensure that the new mages are well behaved. I've caught them on a few occasions sneaking into the laboratory here. Not sure what they might be after, but you know, we can never be too sure. Personally, I think they just sneak down here to carry on with one another…you know…"

"I hope that I haven't broken any rules, Ser Cullen." She held out her hand with the sleeping tea. "I would've asked someone, but didn't want to wake anyone for the sake of a meager bit of tea."

"Oh, no worries…Warden…er… Nuraya. Please help yourself to anything you require." He stepped closer and took a deep breath. "There is something I wanted to say before you take your leave of the Circle."

Nuraya sensed what was coming, and wanted to avoid any awkwardness. Cullen reached out toward her, whether to touch her face or hand she could not be certain. His arm snapped back into position and he took a step back when the voice behind him called out.

"Nuraya! There you are!"

Alistair approached from the doorway and halted when he noticed Cullen in her company. The situation turned from bad to worse. Cullen stepped aside and offered a shallow bow, acknowledging his presence.

"I heard someone in the laboratory and came to investigate," he said to Alistair.

"I was helping myself to some tea," she said feebly.

All three stood in the dark laboratory in silence.

"I'll meet you back upstairs, Alistair." She had to deal with Anders and knew she would need to untangle another mess with Alistair later.

Alistair nodded sheepishly. "Sorry to interrupt, Nuraya, Ser…"

"Cullen," the templar replied.

"Right. Ser Cullen. Well, I guess everything is well in hand. I'll see you upstairs then." He turned and quickly left. She could almost read Alistair's mind: _Puppy love with a dash of conspiracy my foot! _Nuraya did not want to leave Cullen alone in the basement, in case he decided to search the storeroom. She had to get him out of there.

"Cullen, I have a bit of a favor to ask of you." She also wanted to change the subject and was not particularly interested in hearing what he wanted to tell her.

"A favor?"

"Would I be able to visit Anders? He is a dear friend of mine and I may never get a chance to see him again." She offered him her wide and pleading eyes, hoping that an innocent flirtation might help.

"Anders. Right." She sensed that he was already well acquainted with Ander's tricks.

"I only want five minutes. The senior enchanters refuse to let us visit, and I was thinking it would be acceptable if a templar supervised. I promise nothing untoward." She smiled sweetly, hoping that she was having some effect. Cullen scratched his chin and considered her request a bit longer. He shrugged.

"Given your service to the Circle and of the difficult road ahead of you…I'll take you."

She leaped forward and gave him a hug, hoping her acting was not too over the top. "Thank you!" she squealed in a whisper.

Cullen led her up the winding staircase to the Mage's quarters on the third floor. She quickly developed her plan, not wanting Cullen to discover Ander's empty bunk. Abruptly, she stopped in the hallway.

"Is something wrong?" Cullen asked.

"Is it too late to change my mind? I'm so impulsive. You'll have to pardon me. If Irving found out, he'd be very angry with me. I shouldn't have involved you. I'm sorry! I'll just go back to bed."

Cullen gave her an odd look as she turned toward the stairwell. All this running up and down the Circle stairs was exhausting.

"I shall escort you then."

"No, please, I have already inconvenienced you twice this evening." She tried very hard to hide her annoyance with his persistence.

"It's no bother. Gives me something to do. Plus, no one will question your midnight wanderings if they see us together. Let's go."

They returned to the stairwell and Nuraya set a quick pace to get back to her dormitory. Cullen bowed as he dropped her off on the second floor.

"I shall take my leave then, I must attend to my duties." His tone was less authoritative than before. "Maker be with you Warden. If I'm to understand the magnitude of your task, then I shall seek the Revered Mother's blessing on your behalf."

"That is greatly appreciated Cullen. Thank you so much for all your help. I won't forget your kindness. Do take care and travel well."

He looked at her and placed a hand on her cheek. "If circumstances were different…," he muttered. She allowed him to continue, she felt that she owed him that much.

"Fate is often cruel." She may have fallen for Cullen had the situation been any different. She also did not want to part with him unkindly. Kirkwall, it was rumoured, made Kinloch Hold seem like a palace.

"I bid thee good-night then," and she watched him march down the hall.

"Did I interrupt something?" Alistair asked. She turned around, and could not tell if he was on the verge of tears, or about to lose his temper.

"No nothing." She wondered if she should admit the entire situation to him. She paused and grew concerned over Anders' safety.

"Uh, I'll be right back. I think I left something downstairs." Although she was tired, she was impressed she was able to think so quickly on her feet. Without waiting for Alistair's response, she made for the back staircase. Even if he decided to follow her, it would not be as disastrous as Cullen discovering Anders.

She arrived back at the storeroom and hoped that Anders had not found himself into more trouble. When she opened the door, he was leaning nonchalantly against a mud wall. With the use of fire magic, she lit a lantern that hung beside his head.

Nuraya smiled and gave him a hug. He was like a little brother to her, and she was one of the few Circle mages who appreciated his antics. Most of her attitudes about the Chantry came from him. While he had the tendency to take his opinions too far, she believed the current policy needed questioning.

"How I've missed you, Anders!"

"Out flirting with Cullen I see. You Wardens have no boundaries!"

"Oh shush. You know that's not why I was down here. Don't say a word of this by the way. Petra did me a huge favor. Please don't get her into trouble."

"Who am I to question an illicit teaching? Once I learn how to share magic, I'll be doing that all over Ferelden."

Nuraya rolled her eyes playfully. "Still getting into trouble, then. Things haven't changed."

"Once I get out of here, you'll find out what change really means."

"You're not thinking of escaping again? Oh Anders, is that what you really want?

Anders laughed. "Of course! I'd rather be chased throughout Ferelden by a battalion of templars than to stew in this rat hole. We're not all so lucky to be recruited to the Grey Wardens."

"You be careful. Look what happened to Jowan."

Anders scowled. "Jowan was weak. Blood magic is a symptom of a limited mind. I won't need a sodding demon to set things straight."

That statement offered Nuraya some reassurance. "So you're going to change the world all on your own then?"

"Oh don't be so narrow minded, Nuraya. What are you off to do? Stop a Blight? I think I might be able to change a few things myself." She could tell he was teasing, but knew he was deadly serious about his intentions.

"Just be careful then. The Darkspawn are not to be trifled with. They are dangerous and they will kill you. If I survive this Blight, I promise to get you out of here."

"I know you will, Nuraya. You're so sweet, but so bloody naïve! Have you not been listening? I won't be here for long." He emphasized his last statement.

Nuraya was too tired to argue and not in the mood to wrangle with his stubbornness.

"Well whatever happens, I will find you, and we'll change the world together." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I have to get back upstairs before I rouse more suspicions."

She turned toward the storeroom door and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear.

"Hey Nuraya…I'm proud of you. Jealous yes, but mostly proud." His comment brought tears to her eyes.

"Stay safe, brother," she whispered and tiptoed back to the stairwell.

Something caught Nuraya's eye as she walked into her dormitory. It was a dried rose bloom, lying on the floor. It was an odd thing to find. She picked it up and decided to put it in her pack. Of all the potions, poisons and assorted weapons, she decided she had room some something pretty. The room was quiet and still. She crawled under the blankets, and wondered how she was going to deal with Alistair the next day. Even the chaos of her evening could not keep her from drifting asleep.

* * *

_Another tip of the hat to Kira Tamarion for her magic beta abilities and to DoorbellSpider whose advice shaped a good chunk of this chapter. I think you'll be more satisfied with this incarnation DB! Also, I bow in prostration to Bioware's fabulous writing team and collective imaginations. I might not own any of the characters or the ideas, but I own Nuraya's soul. ;) Finally, I see visitors from all over the globe and I welcome each of you to my story. I will admit that things start a little slow. Give me a chance. Nuraya has to get used to all this new found freedom. Reviews and comments are welcome and appreciated!_


	4. Chapter 4: The Fade

A weak sunlight filtered through the thick, glass windows in the First Enchanter's office. Irving reposed, propping his elbows on the arms of an overstuffed chair. He pressed his fingertips together and appeared deep in thought. Nuraya was perplexed as to why he was mulling over her request. She required several senior enchanters to accompany her back to Redcliffe Castle with lyrium—and plenty of it. Together, she hoped, they would complete a ritual to rid the demon plaguing Connor. The only way to avoid using blood magic was involve the Circle and she thought Irving would support that decision.

Waiting for Irving to speak, Nuraya sunk into her chair. She loved this office, its tall windows that looked out over the rolling hills, to the horizon; the books stacked floor to ceiling and the curious artifacts that nestled among them. It was her favorite place in the Tower. In a moment of nostalgia, she fondly thought of the long hours she sat crossed legged in this very chair and listening to Irving's lessons on the complex history between the mages and the Chantry, or of his exploits in the Fade. In her former life, she was his apprentice. Irving was more like a father than a teacher and she missed his advice and counsel. This was the only place where she felt she was of any value. In the halls and dormitories below, she was nothing more than a problem to Fereldan, a disaster lying in wait.

"We will accompany you to Redcliffe, of that there is no doubt," he said after considerable silence. His spoke thoughtfully and in his familiar gruff voice. "However, I want you to fully understand the implications of your actions."

"I'm fully prepared to meet whatever I encounter in the Fade." She still felt like a student. Becoming a Grey Warden didn't change everything.

"Oh, I don't doubt that. This isn't my concern. Presently, there are more…earthly concerns that I would like to bring to your attention."

"Are you speaking of Loghain's treachery, First Enchanter? I was in Ostagar, don't forget." She leaned forward, recalling the terrifying realization that the Wardens had been betrayed and then forced to watch the Darkspawn hoard overwhelm the battlefield and claim both Duncan and King Cailan. It seemed so long ago, yet that moment defined her. "Let's not forget about Jowan. He admitted that Loghain hired him to poison the Arl." As Nuraya spoke about Loghain, she remembered the part he played in Uldred's rebellion, and her anger boiled over. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "If that were not enough, shall we revisit Loghain's part in the devastation of this Circle?

Irving nodded. "Yes, that is all true…so now the Grey Wardens have political affairs to contend with. There are rumors in Denerim regarding _your_ treachery."

"Lies! All of them! That bastard didn't even have the courage to kill the King with his own hand! He retreated and then blamed the Grey Wardens!"

"My dear Nuraya. This anger becomes you. Indeed, the lies spread like an ill wind. By saving the Arl of Redcliffe, word will spread throughout Fereldan of your political leanings."

"But Duncan told me that the Grey Wardens are not supposed to take sides. How am I to stop a Blight and remain neutral?"

"At tricky question. A wise man once said, _know well what leads you forward and what holds you back, and choose the path that leads to wisdom_. "

Nuraya thought about his statement, but had difficulty relating it to her current situation. _I know the Blight is leading me forward, and being a mage holds me back, but I can't even see the choices before me, let alone the path to wisdom. _

"The Grey Wardens may expect you to be neutral, but those who act against you are not. Everyone knows that Eamon is a power to be reckoned with in the Landsmeet. Why else would Loghain poison him? But this is not all. Whist in Denerim, I heard Chantry sisters whisper rumors of a stronger alliance between the Grand Cleric and Loghain. Should there be any grain of truth in this, I fear it could have dire implications for the Circle. This troubles me deeply. With the seat of Chantry power in Orlais, he will influence, or manipulate the Ferelden Chantry and the Circle to his advantage."

"Then Loghain is playing on both sides of the fence, because he the one who convinced Uldred to rebel promising to free the Circle if they supported his claim to the throne. Why doesn't he empower the mages? It would be a perfect strategy to use against the Orlesians."

"Who has ever in the history of Thedas trusted mages, Nuraya? He understands the threat of an Exalted March. He's already proven that he will use a mage to his own advantage. You're right he is trying to play both sides of the fence. Something is brewing, that is all of which I can be certain."

"And now word spreads that we are traitors. Politics won't mean anything when the Archdemon lands and the hoard stains this land with their filth."

"So Duncan was right about this being a Blight."

"I've seen the Archdemon, Irving. Once I took my Joining, I dream of it. It's coming. I have no doubt. But with regards to politics, I have a card up my sleeve, so to speak." She hesitated in revealing this information, but could not help trusting her beloved teacher. "You have to swear that this will not leave this room. The information that I have will put us further at risk."

Irving raised an eyebrow. "I cannot imagine what this information is. Let it remain your secret. We cannot predict what the future will bring and I don't want to know information that could be forced from me. In this case, I prefer to remain ignorant."

Nuraya was stunned at his response. She could not imagine what situation Irving might be referring. _Would the Chantry dare torture Irving for information about me? Have I put the Circle in danger by coming?_

"I do have something for you, Nuraya. I've thought very carefully about giving it to you. But I've made up my mind and I think it will benefit you more than the Circle."

He slowly and with some effort stood up and shuffled to a trunk near his desk. He uttered a quiet spell and she could hear the mechanisms release. He came back with an old volume bound in dragon skin and embossed with silverite. The title was carved in an ancient script she could not recognize. It smelled of its age—of dust, mold and old ink. Pages were fragile and covered with handwriting. Layers of notes from different hands and of different eras crowded the margins. She hoped Irving did not expect her to find some use of it. It would take her years to interpret the first few paragraphs. As she sifted through the volume, she noticed runic diagrams, but recognized none of them.

"I understand you're traveling with Morrigan."

"Yes. She is waiting for us at Castle Redcliffe. Her mother saved us from the Darkspawn at Ostagar."

"Then, please give this to her. Tell her you found it. I do not want to be associated with this anymore."

"I take it you understand the contents? I cannot say that I know her well enough to fully trust her motives. Are you sure I should give this to her?"

"It belongs to her mother. I think she has a right to know the contents. And I have a feeling that it may be of benefit to you someday."

"How's that?"

"I think that is a conversation you should have with Morrigan."

Nuraya wrapped the tome in her clean laundry and stuck it in the bottom of the leather pack. Only her wildest imagination would lead her to wonder what those pages revealed. Perhaps it was true what Irving said with respect to her secrets. Perhaps it was better that she did not know, for the time being.

Irving placed his hand on Nuraya's head. It was his sign of endearment and a reassuring touch that she often received after a particularly complicated lesson. She smiled and stood.

"I think we best leave for Redcliffe," he said simply. "Gather your companions and meet me at the front gates."

~0oOo0~

"And the verdict is?" Alistair asked expectantly.

"Let's get out of this Maker-forsaken place," she sighed, "Irving and his entourage are waiting for us."

All of a sudden, everyone was in motion. The clatter of their equipment and shuffling of gear into leather packs filled the quiet room. She let Leliana and Sten leave ahead of her. Alistair stayed behind as Nuraya did a second sweep of the room to ensure that all their belongings were collected. Alistair was distracted and continued to search the room.

"Did you lose something?" she asked.

"Oh nothing," he muttered. Nuraya took a wild guess and rummaged through her pack and produced the dried rose.

"Looking for this? I found it on the floor last night."

He rubbed his forehead. "Uh, yes." She gave it back and he studied it in the palm of his hand. She had no idea how attached he was to flowers.

Things were awkward between them. He avoided her at breakfast and spoke very little. She knew that her adventures from the night before were the reason he was acting out of character.

"Alistair, I want to explain about last night."

"Your business is your own. I apologize for poking my nose into your…affairs. I'd rather just forget about it, if you don't mind." He swung his shield over his shoulder and handed over her staff. _Great Maferath! He can't be sulking._

"Oh flaming Bride of the Maker! Please listen to me!" She whispered harshly.

"Look, I am sorry I interrupted you and Cullen. I should have known you would have…unfinished business here at the Circle." He coursed his fingers through his hair and continued to rummage through his pack.

"Please, your imagination is getting the better of you. Hear me out. I wasn't going to say anything, but I fear a misunderstanding."

"I'm not interested in hearing about your situation with Cullen."

"This is not about Cullen!" She stomped her foot in frustration, and then proceeded to explain the purpose of her late night meeting with Petra and her visit with Anders.

"Had Cullen caught us, Petra would have been punished severely, and I would have been suspected as some sort of blood-mage Grey Warden. Learning magic without permission is highly suspect here! And as for Anders…he's like a brother, I couldn't bear leaving here not having seen him. I had to get Cullen out of the laboratory to keep him out of trouble." She massaged her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Recounting these clandestine meetings was beginning to make her head ache.

Alistair relaxed, approached her and laid his hand on her once injured shoulder.

"This will not leave this room. I promise. You're a sneaky one! What about Wynne? Won't she wonder how you became a healer?"

"I'm not sure how I'm going to deal with that. I'll figure out something when the time comes, I suppose. What is Wynne going to do? Send me to the templars?"

"I doubt that. Probably give you a good scolding though!"

She watched his expression relax and she was glad that he believed her.

"There was a reason why I was wandering the halls looking for you," he said, becoming slightly more serious.

She looked up at him; lingering thoughts remained about how she was going to explain this situation to Wynne in the event she decided to grill her on her newly acquired skill.

"Oh, why is that?"

"I am going to sound like such an ass, but I wanted to find a quiet moment to give you this. Maker knows when I am going to get this chance again." He handed her back the rose. "I found this in Lothering and couldn't bear to leave it there to become spoiled by the Darkspawn. When I saw it, I thought of you—a lovely delicate thing amongst all this ugliness. I was struck by how it dared to exist and the courage it had to bloom. I've been trying to find the courage to give it to you, but could never find the right time. That's why I came looking for you. Then I saw you with Cullen…and then I must have dropped it…"

She cupped the rose in her hand and smelled its faint sweetness. She was relieved that she didn't need to guess what he was feeling, but regretted not finding her own courage to tell him herself.

"What a beautiful thought. I don't know what to say. Ever since Ostagar…I don't know what I would do without you... I want you to know that…and that I…what I mean to say is…oh Flaming Andraste…I am not very good at this…no need to worry about making an ass of yourself Alistair. I am quite determined to do this for the both of us." She felt her cheeks burn as she tried to say something sensible.

"I've never met anyone like you before."

"A free mage turned Grey Warden setting out to slay the Archdemon? Fancy that. I'm sure you can find a room full in Denerim." If Alistair had taught her anything, it was how to inject humor to smooth over a complicated situation. To ensure he fully understood what she was unable to say, she leaned forward and lightly kissed his cheek.

"You surprise me Alistair. With your background, I thought I would be too…dangerous." Her tone turned serious. Until now she was not sure if his flirting meant anything more than harmless teasing.

"Right, the whole templar-mage thing. You aren't what I expected, either. You think about things. I've always thought that magic was some sort of instinct that mages acted upon. But I see you struggle with choices, using magic for good, seeing others exploit it for personal power. Everything the Chantry trained me to expect about you…is wrong. The Grey Wardens taught me how to be more open-minded, that our success depended on cooperation. But with you I've gone beyond just open-minded, cooperation…"

Gently, he cupped her face with his hands and looked into her eyes. The moment her gaze locked met his, her stomach fluttered, and she stepped in closer. He grasped her shoulders, leaned in and kissed her. She surrendered, gathered him into her arms and deepened their embrace. All she yearned for, at that moment, was to stop time and give in her rushing desires. She wove her fingers into his as she pulled away and smiled.

"Where do we go from here, Alistair, a free mage and an ex-templar? Duncan would surely have had reservations." She leaned against his chest and held him tight, relieved and overjoyed.

"Right now we are both Wardens, and that is all that matters. As for Duncan, I suppose he would be concerned about…distractions. He was rather single-minded." He caressed her long dark braid, and set it gently in front of her shoulder.

"Speaking of distractions, what do we tell rest of the rest of our party?"

"Right. Shall we just announce it around the campfire and join hands and sing a few ballads?"

"Let's just ease them into the idea, shall we?"

"Of course. I'm composing the ballad as we speak…"

Nuraya leaned forward again and offered her lips to his. She hoped that in the chaos that would unfurl over the next couple of days, they would be able to steal some time alone together. And then, she heard Duncan's judicious voice in the back of her mind, something he had said long ago at Ostagar, and wondered if she was still living up to his expectations: _From here, you two are on your own. Remember, you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title._

She looked toward the door, knowing she was keeping Irving waiting.

"Let's get this over with," she sighed. Despite all that had transpired over the past few days, she still had the Fade to contend with.

~0oOo0~

"Oh thank the Maker, Warden. We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival!" Bann Teagan greeted the party at the Redcliffe's bailey. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

"The Darkspawn did not stand a chance, Ser." Nuraya smiled and walked alongside Eamon's younger brother. "What of Redcliffe, any news?"

"My brother shows no improvement, but he is no worse. Lady Isolde is either by Eamon's bedside, and inconsolable, or she is fretting over the Connor."

"I trust the demon is under some sort of control."

"Miraculously, yes. Your companion Wynne used some sort of protective ward that at least keeps the demon at bay. The lad is not himself for sure, but the rages have abated."

They arrived at the hall and she was greatly relieved that she was anywhere but at the Circle. Wynne approached the party with relief and offered a tender hug to Nuraya, a handshake to Irving and, warm greetings to the four senior enchanters. Morrigan sat in a corner, clearly bored. Nuraya attempted some small talk but she was greeted with a yawn. Leliana, Sten and Alistair were ushered to an out-of-the-way corner to serve as witnesses to the ritual. Before departing from Nuraya's side, Leliana placed her hands on Nuraya's shoulders.

"Maker watch over you. I will be praying as you face this demon. Be brave, my friend."

Nuraya mustered an assuring smile.

Great banners hung on either side of a large stone hearth. They were meticulously stitched with intricate images of Redcliffe's heroes. The flickering fire seemed to breathe life into the designs. Nuraya focused on the embers and calmed her anxiety. After brief a counsel with Teagan and the Circle Mages, Irving spoke up.

"I advise that we waste no more time and commence the cleansing ritual. Morrigan, will you stand with us?"

She looked up, leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. "I will sit this one out, your eminence, if you do not mind." Nuraya could hear the sarcasm seeping from her tone. She did not expect Morrigan's assistance and therefore was not disappointed.

"Such is your desire My Lady," he responded courteously and then addressed the room.

"No one is to break this circle until the ritual is complete and no one is to touch Nuraya until I deem it safe." Then he turned to Nuraya and looked straight into her eyes, "If you are possessed during your journey, do you understand what I must do?"

"Yes, First Enchanter. If I should fall under the influence of demons, you must kill me. Please avoid further ruin upon this place." She expected this warning, and understood the consequences. Her belly continued to sour and churn. Over Irving's shoulder she caught a glimpse of a terrified Alistair. Perhaps she should have warned him. _Surely, his time with the templars would have prepared him for this possibility. _

"And where is the boy?" Eamon asked.

"He is in the nursery with his governess and mother," Teagan said.

"Please send word to the mother that the ritual is about to begin. I advise this to be done out of range of the boy and keep him away from the hall."

"Right away, First Enchanter." Teagan quickly took his leave.

"Then let us begin," he said softly, bowing his head.

Wynne, Irving and the four mages stood in a circle surrounding Nuraya. Irving commenced with a low guttural mantra of ancient incantations, still strange to her ears. Even after her Harrowing the words were so foreign and drenched with ancient power. He held a ewer. Her hands started to shake and to calm herself, she studied the vessel. Its base, spout and lip were dark bronze and accented with enameled runes. The handle, an arching bronze dragon, breathed fire of encrusted garnet onto its carved glass body. Luminescent lyrium twisted and turned inside, fueled from the intensity of Irving's mantra. He lifted the lyrium and drank and then served it to each mage in the circle. His monotone invocation remained constant, as he poured lyrium on the floor, around the circle and then in a line from every mage to Nuraya. Still chanting, he motioned for Nuraya to drink her share and when she had done so, he joined the circle. The mages continued chanting their haunting mantra in unison. When each mage placed their left hand onto their neighbour's shoulder and their right onto Nuraya, she could feel their collective energy course through her, vibrating, cold and powerful. Their voices lowered, but quickened. Slowly, they lowered to their knees and directed Nuraya to the floor. Without pause, they simultaneously raised their hands from Nuraya, whose breath now kept pace with the fervent chanting, and then slapped her trembling body. The actual touch was nothing compared to the force that pulled her from her body.

At that moment, Nuraya was flung into the Fade. She stood on a path inside a dense thicket. From her periphery, vague objects caught her attention. Whenever she turned to see what it was, she saw nothing but trees swaying in and out of focus. She heard the hollow noise again, incessant and indistinct. Turning, desperately trying gather her bearings, she watched shadow and light merge and separate. In the distance, she could hear the faint crying of a child. She reached for her staff and wondered if it was real; if it was the same staff she clung to in Ferelden.

The polished wood grounded her, helped focus her as she decided upon a direction to take. As her body and mind adjusted to the surreal environment, she felt the cold. It was nothing like a frosty autumn morning, but lingered with vapid silence. Despite the movement she sensed in the corners of her eyes, the air was still, like death.

The cries of the wailing child pierced her ears, trailed off into the distance and back again. Determining distance would be impossible, but she sensed the sounds were coming from her right. She turned and headed toward the call of pain and torment, but there was no path. She gathered her courage and stepped into the shadowy wood. As soon as her foot disappeared into the ethereal foliage, a path appeared before her. Keeping her eyes fixed ahead, she marched steadfastly forward, allowing the distressing sounds to guide her. Shadow birds landed above her and cawed. smearing the void grey above her with the darkness of their wings. Other creatures, with dull eyes peered at her from the wood, snarling and poised to pounce. She refused to confront them, sensing they would disappear if her gaze left the distinctive path in front of her.

She entered a clearing. A young lad, no older than eight, stood in the centre. Childhood attachments lingered around him. A bed floated haphazardly in a corner. Toys were askew and hovering about the clearing. Nuraya cautiously approached him and opened her mouth to command the demon to face her. The boy—_or was it the demon_—must have sensed her intention and cursed her. It ran, dissolving into incoherent smear, similar to water droplets on fresh ink. She followed his trail, through a winding path. She could hear him cry and wail again.

After catching up with him, she found herself in the same clearing she had just left. She brushed aside what she saw, and called out to the demon.

"Thou art no longer bound to this boy. I command thee to release him!"

The boy shook and cried and begged her not to hurt him.

"Please lady, I'm afraid! Don't hurt me. I'm lost. I can't find my mama."

Her heart ached for the boy, his pleas reminded her of her childhood, and how she begged the templars to let her return to her parents. She wanted to take him into her arms and tell him that everything was going to be alright, but she knew how demons worked. She raised her staff and struck Connor with a bolt of lightening. Turning toward her, she saw his eyes, pools of churning shadow, glare back with rage. A dark mist billowed from empty sockets and gathered into a surge of swirling grey smoke. Connor dissipated and reformed into a rage demon. Its twisted face, pulled tight in strange angles from massive scars, stared into hers. She hurled more lightning at it. It slithered to evade her attack, but was struck in the shoulder. It flailed backward and forward like a demented toy on a spring and bellowed madness that overwhelmed her senses. She ducked its counterattack, spun around and attacked. The demon crumbled into a heap of ash. This was not the demon she sought to tear its grip from Connor. This beast guarded the desire demon.

Once again, she could hear Connor's calls and howls from the distance. She continued to search and defeat each sentinel. The more she conquered, the stronger they became. _I must be getting closer,_ she reassured herself. She followed the distant moans for what seemed for hours. The constant flickers of movement, and the grating clangs harassing her hearing, drained her. Arl Eamon, in his confused fade-form, often appeared, reprimanding her for her assaults on Connor. After her first attempt to reason with him failed, she paid no heed and walked through his apparition.

Her path unexpectedly veered left. She entered a clearing and saw Alistair standing there. She aimed her staff, but he approached and motioned to stop.

"Thank the Maker I found you! Irving sent me here to find you."

"Back off, Demon!" she screamed.

"Please, listen, I know what this looks like, but listen. The demon awoke in Connor and Morrigan killed him. The ritual failed, I have been sent to bring you back."

Nuraya wanted to believe this. A part of her expected Morrigan to interfere.

"Only mages can enter the Fade and escape death." She took a step back not lowering her staff. She was so relieved to see someone familiar that she struggled to maintain her attention.

"The Circle mages used a ritual to send someone that you trust into the Fade. Irving knew that you would remain lost and not listen to anyone else. You've seen Arl Eamon here haven't you? He is completely lost. I don't want to lose you the same way. Please come with me."

Alistair held out his hand and slowly approached. Nuraya stood motionless. He gently lowered her staff and then tenderly touched her face. This was Alistair; this was his piercing gaze, his gentle hand. The memory of their first kiss was so new and fresh in her mind. Tired of feeling lost and confused, she leaned into his hand. Now that the ritual had failed, she needed this touch to bring her back, to return her from the Fade. He was here to save her.

"Please, I cannot bear to lose you here. We belong together. When we get back, we must continue our quest, I cannot go on alone." He embraced her and kissed her sweetly. This was Alistair, she thought and pulled him to her and fervently explored his lips, his tongue. After, he cupped her face and looked evenly into her eyes.

"Together we'll end this Blight." He played with her braid in that familiar, comforting way.

She took a step back, feeling her hair fall in front of her shoulder. She could not resist these addictive pleas. She remembered her vow to Irving, her promise to Teagan to save Connor. So confused, so torn, she didn't know what to do. Gathering all the courage she could muster, she launched a spike of ice at his head. Everything within her screamed that this was wrong, that she must follow him, return to Redcliffe and continue their quest.

"Well, well, well. We finally meet. Is it Mage or Warden?"

"It is both." Nuraya hit the demon with a bolt of electricity and it screeched and fought back. Nuraya had to ignore the forms it took, and at times had to close her eyes as she conjured an offensive spell. Although her aim was compromised, the alternative was worse. If she allowed herself to look at the demon, it reminded her of how much she wanted Alistair, and how she didn't want to hurt him. As the battle continued, Nuraya could feel her energy draining. She had no sense for its condition. _Have I weakened it at all?_ The demon writhed away, sometimes flickering in its Alistair form, sometimes as a formless horror.

"You know you want him. Allow me to grant you this. He shall be your King and as Queen; you shall grant freedom to all Fereldan mages. You know this is within your grasp."

"But at what cost?" she shrieked. There would be no bargains, no deals to be made, no matter how desperately she yearned for these offers. She noticed a lyrium vein behind the demon. If she could access it, she could replenish her tapped reserves. Nuraya angled herself toward the vein and pretended to lower her guard.

"You would have me become Queen and exert power over the mages? What do you gain in this bargain?"

The demon swayed, staring directly into Nuraya's eyes.

"So you consider my offer…Warden…" it whispered sensuously. "All that I ask is the opportunity to—make an appearance—from time to time."

Nuraya glided closer to her target, not taking her eyes off the shifting demon. Sometimes it appeared as Alistair, her father, even Irving. These apparitions pulled at her heart, and with great reluctance she approached. The lyrium was now a foot-length away. Nuraya held aside her staff in a conciliatory manner; sidestepped and buried her foot in the centre of the vein. A jolt of power surged through her and she conjured an inferno.

The demon was consumed in a thunderous blaze and Nuraya watched its energy diminish. Backing away from the firestorm, she heard the demon's fervid screams curse her.

"I will watch the Archdemon destroy you, Warden and I will dance on your corpse! This land will be consumed with darkspawn and I will sing of your weakness and cowardice! Songs will lament the Coward of Fereldan!"

The Demon shrieked and Nuraya watched wide-eyed as it began to wither in the flame. She cast another fireball directly for the demon's head, causing it to melt as candle wax over its blistered form. Nuraya collapsed, completely spent and drained.

~0oOo0~

"Welcome back Nuraya."

Silence roused her back to consciousness. No longer could she hear the aching song of the Fade. Its flummoxing cacophony no longer echoed in her ears. Irving was above her looked deeply into her eyes. He spoke softly and a grin caused the corners of his kindly eyes to crinkle.

"Irving…"

He helped her to a sitting position. She was still holding the empty ewer. Irving took it and handed it to one of the senior enchanters. As she focused on the hall, she noticed many eyes watching her as she found her bearings and returned to her senses.

"Please, let's give the Grey Warden her space."

"Is that it? Is that all?" She heard Alistair approach the broken circle. His questions confused her. Her mind was weary and spent, and her body was exhausted from the hours of trudging through the wilds of the Fade. Irving helped Nuraya stand, and steadied her. Wynne approached and wrapped an arm around her reassuringly.

"Is the ritual complete?" Alistair demanded and pushed himself through the senior enchanters surrounding her. It was apparent that Irving was confident of the answer, but turned to Nuraya anyway.

"Yes. I killed it. I pursued it for hours."

"Hours?" Alistair asked incredulously. "But this ritual was over as soon as it started!"

Nuraya looked at him in equal amounts of confusion. "I don't understand Irving. I spent hours hunting that demon–"

Irving held up his hand and interrupted. "Such is the Fade. Do not question it. I suggest you get some rest."

At that moment, Teagan burst into the hall.

"Connor and Isolde both live! He is free from this demon. How can Redcliffe repay the Wardens and the Circle?" He tempered his excitement when he recognized the exhaustion from the room. Nuraya's head began to ache and could not shake the surreal sensations.

"What is to be done with the Mage, Jowan?" Teagan asked. So betrayed by her friend's choices, Nuraya did not want to see him again.

Irving spoke up. "We can discuss this at a later time, Teagan."

"Very well. Please, Redcliffe would like to honor all of you at a banquet tonight and I will send the Redcliffe guard to accompany you back to the Circle tomorrow. Please, the Castle is yours for the night." Teagan turned to his staff and instructed them to escort the entire party to the guest quarters.

Alistair approached and offered to accompany Nuraya to her room. She caught a glimpse of Irving and Wynne nod to each other knowingly. _So much for secrets!_

He led her down a winding hallway to the second floor. Servants scuttled about with bedding and prepared for the overnight guests. Mages convened brief meetings in the hall, while Leliana and Wynne appeared deep in conversation as they walked. All greeted Nuraya warmly, but she barely had the energy to smile.

"I'm relieved it's over," he said. "I hope it was not too obvious how worried I was."

She recalled the demon's trick and how it appeared as Alistair. She was unsure if she should tell this to him.

"I think I need to sleep off this lyrium hangover." She scratched her head and realized she was still covered in the sticky residue of lyrium that Irving had anointed her with, earlier.

"Apparently, I am also in need of a bath. Ugh. You have no idea how overjoyed I am that this whole ordeal is over! I loathe demons." Alistair opened the wooden door at the end of the hallway.

"Rest here and I'll have the staff prepare a bath for you." The suite was a sight for her weary bones. A feather bed, under a rich draping canopy sat in the middle of a comfortable sized room. A servant was busy starting a fire. Alistair took her pack and staff and set them in a large overstuffed chair in the corner.

"I think you will be able to suffer through this for the evening," he said. He swung open door, adjacent to the bed. She thought it might be a closet and wondered why Alistair might want to poke around.

"Shhhhh!" he turned toward her and grinned widely. "Adjoining rooms!" and he disappeared into the other side of the door.

Still groggy from the ritual she barely had time to react. The door opened slightly and he poked his head out.

"I will come rouse you for dinner. Enjoy your rest." He winked and then shut it again. Not bothering to undress, she laid on the bed and fell asleep.

~0oOo0~

I am marching. Awareness rises, but then I am afraid. I don't want to look around, but I don't know where I am. The Darkspawn ignore me and urge me along the route. They stink of filth and hate and death. They snarl and grunt in effort, with the lifting and pounding of their clawed feet. Am I visible? Can they see me? Have I been transformed into a Darkspawn? Why am I here? Have I returned to the Fade? I am surrounded by stone. The heat of a snaking river of liquid fire slithers in the distance, illuminating our path in a hazy glow. A hurlock pushes me along. Its claws scratch my back. The wound burns. I see a shadow overhead. Far away, I can hear a lingering echo, a roar, a scream, a thundering demand. The shadow looms lower, the presence is closer. My heart throbs. I am desperate; I hope that I am invisible. I feel a searing pain on my back. I cannot defend myself against this agony. I am in its clutches. I am taken away. I am tossed upon a ledge, high in the cavern. It flies away and perches some distance from me. It studies me. It invades my mind. It speaks. I don't understand. I am terrified. I scream.

* * *

_Many thanks to my beta Kira Tamarion for her vigilance and sacrifice with my tangled grammar and DoorbellSpider for her unabashed input. Bioware owns all, except for Nuraya's soul. Thanks to everyone who has added me to their favorites. I'd love to hear your thoughts, don't be shy, leave a review! So now that Nuraya is through with the Fade, I wonder what sort of trouble she will find herself in next? Stay tuned!_


	5. Chapter 5: Indulgences

The nightmare had left her unsettled. Jolting awake, she caught her breath and sat up, pulling at the lyrium that still coated her hair. Out in the hallway, she heard a muffled discussion and the sound of doors closing. She guessed that dinner would soon be ready. Not wanting to be late for her own party, she disrobed. Being on run and fighting darkspawn hadn't afforded her the luxury of fine clothing. Her well-worn robes would have to suffice, and she hoped the Arlessa would be forgiving of her mud-caked hem and scuffed boots. A stone bathing pool was curtained off in the corner of the room and a fire had been lit at the base to heat the water. Steam rose from the surface and she quickly stepped in and stretched out in the warmth. She unwound her braid and leaned back to allow her hair to float to the surface. Scrubbing her scalp, she worked out the knots and lyrium. Petals and herbs suspended in the water released their fragrance and dissolved her lingering grogginess and distress. She covered herself, at every sound near the adjoining door. She anticipated Alistair to burst through at any moment. Despite what had happened between them, she still clung to her modesty.

After she dried herself and put on her dirty robe, she sat at a vanity built for a noble lady. She hesitated before touching the delicate brushes and combs that were set out for the guests. Finally, she picked up an ivory handled brush and rubbed the dense bristles over the palm of her hand. She brushed her long dark tresses and gently worked out the knots. She was about to braid her hair, when she heard a faint tapping on the hallway door. She looked in the mirror and decided she was fit for company, save her flowing, wet, unkempt hair and bare feet. Padding over to the door, she opened it to see a wide-eyed little boy and his mother.

"I hope we are not disturbing you Warden Amell." Isolde looked relieved, although fatigued.

These last few weeks had taken a toll on her, and it showed. Of course, her ordeal was not yet over with as, on the floor above them, the Arl still teetered between life and death.

"Not at all Arlessa, and hullo Ser Connor! I heard you were not feeling yourself lately." She winked at Isolde and motioned for the two to step in.

Connor and his mother settled into a settee nearest the door and Nuraya set aside her belongings that Alistair had arranged in the chair in front of them.

Isolde looked at her son and nodded. With a bit of hesitation, he said, "Thank you very much for making me feel better m'lady. Mama said that you were the one who made the bad dreams go away."

He was nothing like his doppelganger in the Fade. His eyes, full of watery innocence, stared into hers. A light dusting of freckles covered his nose and he grinned from ear to ear as he allowed his feet to dangle carelessly off his seat. She sensed no malevolence or ill-intent, not even a hint of the possession remained.

"You are very welcome Ser Connor. I was happy to help."

Isolde smiled and wrapped her arm around her son. "The Arl and I are indebted to you, Warden."

"How is the Arl?"

"No change, but at least he still lives." Isolde's eyes began to water and she inhaled deeply. Watching Connor's boyish charms, Nuraya understood Isolde's motivation to Jowan to teach Connor in secret. If she was so unlucky to have a child, she believed she might do the same. What parent could bear to have their child sequestered in that wretched tower for a lifetime? Part of her wished that there were some way to keep him with his parents. She could see into his future, and felt very sad.

"We will leave directly for Denerim tomorrow, Arlessa. We will find the Urn of Sacred Ashes and heal your husband. You have my word."

"Too much kindness. I only hope that he lives to see you through this task. I would like to present you with a token of our gratitude. It is not much, but I believe someone in your party will find it useful."

She gave Connor a bit of a nudge and he ran to the hallway, returning with a resplendent shield, bearing Eamon's family crest. Connor wielded it, and brandished an imaginary sword.

"You can use it to kill the Darkspawn!" He thrust his arm to attack the pretend foe. Isolde gently touched his arm and the beaming lad presented it to her. The shield reflected light onto his soft face and he glowed, as though he belonged in the Golden City.

"As you can see, it does not take much to heal the young." Isolde smiled and took her son by the hand. "We will leave you now. Please, you will be our honored guests tonight. I only wish that Eamon was able to join us."

Nuraya escorted them to the door. "He will in good time Arlessa. Rest your fears." Nuraya was not sure where her confidence came from, but she didn't feel that she lied or exaggerated either. She tousled Connor's untamed hair and waved goodbye as they left down the hallway. She noticed that he had a playful skip in his walk, and she was happy he was safe for now. Her heartache for him returned, knowing his time at home was short.

About to shut the door, she noticed Wynne curtsy to the Arlessa and then smile at Nuraya.

"So glad you have woke up, Nuraya. Can we speak for a couple of moments?"

"Of course Wynne! Come in. I'm not accustomed to so many guests!"

They sat by the warmth of the hearth. A servant, noticed the open door, curtsied and tended to the room. It was distracting having others attend to her every need. She wondered how the nobility could stand the constant interruptions and lack of privacy.

"I came to see how our Warden was faring. You look well, child. I could not be more proud of you. You made Irving proud as well." She was beaming, as a mother would over her daughter's accomplishments. She reached her hand and squeezed Nuraya's knee.

"Irving and I decided to present you with this." She placed a large wrapped parcel on the Nuraya's lap. Turning the package in her hands, she was not accustomed to receiving gifts, and caught her own perplexed reflection in the shield that she had placed in the corner.

"Go ahead, silly girl, open it!"

She pulled the jute strings and unfolded the wrapping. She unfurled onto her lap a glorious robe—Senior Enchanter's robes. Runes in stitched knot-work adorned the edging. Before the rest of the garment drew her attention, she read "pool" "wind" and "health." An iridescent thread was woven in the ebony fabric; she could not determine the type of thread, or even if it was violet, emerald or aquamarine. Great dragons battled within the embroidery and stylized smoke plumes caught the light when she turned the fabric toward the hearth and noticed new details shimmer as she flexed it in her arms. The draping sleeves slipped from her lap and dropped to the floor. She was thrilled to see a hood attached, inside of which was thick and cool to touch.

"Spider armor. Strong as steel and light as cotton. Irving and I decided that, although expeditious, you should better represent the Circle, my child. We can't have you running around Ferelden in rags and we couldn't think of anyone more deserving of the exception. Now stop your gawking and let me see."

Nuraya quickly took off her old robe and put on the new one. She wheeled the cloak around her. It was noticeably denser than what she was accustomed and offered her a feeling of shelter. She lifted the hood over her head and whirled around, the material billowed in response. She caught her reflection again. This time she appeared imposing, mysterious even. She could immediately sense the effect of the embroidered script around the hood's edge. It offered her a boost to her ability to cast magic.

"I guess I won't disappoint the Arlessa and show up looking like I'm fresh from battle." Nuraya giggled. In the Circle she never had many opportunities indulge her girlish whims. She loved wearing robes and was thankful that female mages were not encouraged to wear the dresses the ordinary Fereldan maid wore. They always seemed so restrictive and oppressive to her. She could wear breaches and tunic under her robes and not have to worry about the conventions about appearing lady-like.

"Well, no lady of the land is a match to Nuraya Amell, Grey Warden." Wynne said.

Nuraya secured her belt around her waist and begun lacing up the knee-high boots that were included in the package, and pleased to discover that they would protect her from elemental damage.

"There is something else I wanted to speak to you about," Wynne started cautiously.

Nuraya, still bent over and lacing herself into the footwear, looked up. Her hair escaped from behind her and swung down beside her knee.

"What's that?" she asked, still preoccupied with the laces.

"Both Irving and I have concerns over your relationship with Alistair."

Nuraya was taken off guard, stopped lacing her boots, and sat up straight. "Relationship? What do you mean?"

"I see the way you look at each other. I may be old, but I'm not an old fool. Alistair cares for you, it's obvious. But have you considered the implications of this?"_ How long has he been looking at me like that? How blind have I been?_

"Wynne, there have been no declarations. I admit that I've grown quite fond of him. It certainly shouldn't concern you."

"And does this fondness extend beyond friendship?" Her question stung and Nuraya resented the prying.

"In all honesty Wynne, it is too soon to say. But what harm would it bring?" She realized how naïve this sounded, but at the same time, didn't care. Her developing fondness for Alistair was private and she did not see how it was any of Wynne's business.

"I know he is heir to the Fereldan throne. The Chantry would never sanction a connection between a royal and a mage."

Nuraya sat agog. "First, how do you know of Alistair's parentage? Second, I don't think the Chantry has the time be concerned about me and Alistair. "

"There have been whispers at camp. Don't be so shocked. Everyone sees how your eyes flutter when he is around and I myself have seen the way he looks at you, and how he brightens up when you're around. I've seen that look before. Have either of you decided what you are going to do about Loghain?"

"No, not specifically. Given that Loghain was responsible for Duncan and the King's death, I can only assume that Alistair wants revenge. Beyond that, there are no specific plans. He won't speak about being heir though."

"He has to consider this." Wynne was becoming frustrated. And then she looked at Nuraya.

"And _you_ have to consider the implications of your feelings for Alistair. This will hurt you. This will hurt all of us. Nuraya, I believe that Alistair is developing a healthy respect for mages. He respects you. Having Alistair on the throne will benefit us all, but a public relationship jeopardizes this precarious support. He may deny his claim because of you."

"Flaming Andraste, Wynne! I'm supposed to end a Blight and then I'm to free all Fereldan mages? Loghain promised freedom to Uldred, and look what happened! The Chantry would love another excuse to threaten the Rite of Annulment. I doubt very much that Alistair can be convinced to take the throne and I doubt the tides of politics wash onto the shores of my private life."

"You underestimate yourself. Please think about this, and I vow not to meddle anymore. In the end, my dearest Nuraya, I don't want to see you hurt. No matter how this ends and no matter what fate has in store for us mages, take it from me, the wounds of the heart are hardest to heal. No magic can mend this."

Nuraya guessed that there must be a story of unrequited love in Wynne's past. Maybe another time, in front of a roaring campfire, would she learn more about it. Then again, Nuraya wasn't sure she wanted to hear a tragic love story.

"Does Irving know that Alistair is Maric's son? I tried to tell him, but he would not hear it." Nuraya asked.

"He suspects something, but I know of his desire to remain ignorant. We'll keep it that way. We won't be able to hide this much longer."

"This is Alistair's secret, let's not forget. I don't even like discussing this behind his back. He told me in confidence." Nuraya said.

"He isn't the only one who knows, don't forget. Teagan is well aware of the situation. So is the Arlessa, and of course poor Arl Eamon. Come, come, we should not be so grave. Just keep this conversation in the back of your mind. Tonight we feast, this is no time for long faces." Wynne stood and stroked Nuraya's cheek affectionately.

"Your heart is in the right place. Please know that my concern stems from my affection towards you. Now, if you will indulge me, let me fix that wild hair of yours."

It was a welcomed change to have Wynne start fussing over her. All this talk about broken hearts and politics was beginning to stain her good mood. With the Fade was now behind her, she allowed this rare moment to pander to her femininity, and would face the seriousness of politics and the Blight at dawn. The world would wait while Wynne combed her ebony hair and crossed a scarlet ribbon down the length. The elder mage stood back and sighed.

"You should have been a noble, child."

"So I could be trapped in a tower and married to some boor? Send me into the horde ma'am." Echoes of their laughter could be heard down the winding halls of Redcliffe castle.

~0oOo0~

Nuraya was stunned to see that the Arlessa spared no detail for the banquet. The Castle's staff surely had little time to spare in their preparations. _And we still have to heal the Arl!_ To Nuraya, the effort seemed over the top and excessive. The table was laden with the Castle's finest serving ware and linens. Candelabras glowed merrily down the length of the hall and revealed the roast venison, boar and pheasant. Stemmed serving dishes, wreathed in ivy, were laden with exotic fruit and delicate pastries. Crystal goblets sparkled and reflected the flames of the hearth. Waiters served the best vintages. It was obvious that Isolde was accustomed to such pomp. As Nuraya was ushered to her seat, she enjoyed the feel and weight of her new robe as it swung and swayed with her stride. The guests stood and offered her a standing ovation. Her face burned in embarrassment and quickly gestured for everyone to stop. She was pleased that someone had the foresight to seat her next to Alistair.

"Please save your applause. Let's raise our glasses and pray for health of the Arl and the end of the Blight."

The guests rumbled a hearty "Here! Here!"

The Arlessa stood and addressed the room.

"I owe the Wardens for saving my son. Redcliffe will forever be indebted to the Wardens and to the Circle. Accept this bounty as a small token of our gratitude. Please enjoy."

The sound of voices grew louder to overcome the cling and clang of busy platters. Flanked by Wynne and Irving, the Arlessa asked politely about the Circle. Nuraya could see the Arlessa's concern. Connor would have to go. She wondered when, and hoped his departure would be less traumatic than her own.

Leliana was engrossed in a discussion with Teagan regarding Orlais. He seemed interested in Orlesian culture and Leliana was quite happy to indulge him.

"So, rumour has it that the Wyvern hunting is surging in popularity in Orlais, or do my contacts exaggerate, Lady Leliana?" Teagan asked.

"No, not at all. Although I have never had the pleasure of participating in such a spectacle, I hear these beasts are quite a challenge, even for the most adept warriors." She took a sip of her wine and grinned. "The parties that follow the hunt are quite extravagant as well. I hope to be invited to one, Maker willing of course."

Nuraya scanned the rest of her party, even Sten and Morrigan appeared to enjoy the luxurious atmosphere. Morrigan was having a lively debate with one of the senior mages, who she knew as Tilley. He was a few years her senior, and was known for being a bit of a recluse, although not without strong opinions. Nuraya guessed that he was able to quickly rise in ranks once Uldred had been disposed. When she was part of the Circle, she had heard he was an Isolationist, but from what she overheard, at the table, she believed he was developing into a Loyalist.

"Your theory about the Old Gods is indeed fascinating, Morrigan, but it is well known that the Old Gods only serve to weaken men by luring them away from the true voice of our Maker."

"And I have heard quite the opposite. 'Tis the Maker that deceives men about the true nature of the Old Gods." Morrigan leaned on her elbows and grinned wryly, clearly enjoying debate with a willing participant. Nuraya was always told that religion was best not discussed at the table and turned away, despite being curious about Morrigan's opinion.

In the background, a quartet of musicians filled the room with traditional, light-hearted songs. She hummed along, as she watched Alistair heap his plate with a healthy portion of the finest cheeses from the Anderfels. He scooped a heaping portion of poached sinnoch, an Amaranthine fish, and encouraged Nuraya to try it. She refused to eat from his fork, and used her own to cut a piece to try. Had they been at a tavern or around a campfire, she would have allowed Alistair to feed her, but with Wynne, Teagan and Isolde's eyes on her, she did not want to provide any more fodder for gossip.

"If a momentary trip to the Fade earns us this, just think of how we shall dine once we eliminate the Archdemon!" he beamed.

"My experience of the Fade was not quite so short, don't forget."

He held his glass to hers, and with a ting, toasted "To the Grey Wardens."

The room settled into easy chatter, with everyone temporarily forgot the weight of the future. She relished the rich delicacies on her plate and decided that overindulgence was acceptable for one evening. From under the table she realized she was being nudged. Alistair looked over and winked. She decided to rest her ankle over his foot, to which he would lightly draw his toe lightly up her calf. It was a night for indulgence, after all. The room was brought to attention with the clang of a knife on crystal. Teagan stood before the gathering his glass in hand.

"Before we get too carried away with our merriment, I wanted to raise a glass in honour and respect of our late King. Fine citizens of Ferelden, may he and the Maker guide us through our darkest days." The room responded reverently.

As the last of the dishes were removed and the room relaxed in the glow of fine wine and brandy, the musicians increased their tempo. Leliana joined and sang some local folk songs she had picked up on her travels. The senior enchanters, now less formal and loosened from the drink, danced a few reels, causing the room to erupt in laughter and rhythmic clapping. Alistair stood and grabbed Nuraya's hand. His cheeks glowed in response to the brandy he had consumed.

"Come, let us rile the mages!"

"You cannot mean to dance!"

"Of course! You have to practice for your dance on the Archdemon's corpse." He pulled her to the front of the room and spun her around. Whistles and cheers echoed through the hall and she tried to follow the nimble footwork of the Cumberland three-step. _Maker, I should have had more brandy!_ Eventually, they all joined arms in a circle and kept pace with the surging tempo of the band. Breathless, she returned to the table and swallowed the contents of her glass in a single gulp, and asked for more. Alistair beckoned her to return and reluctantly, she obliged.

~0oOo0~

The room was spinning. She was lying on top of the bed, still fully dressed and very drunk. They had danced for hours and her fearlessness evaporated with every replenished glass. Vaguely she recalled locking arms with Irving and twirling to meet Bann Teagan. This led to a memory of her reeling and spinning, allowing her cloak to flounce and flap in the air currents it caused. Others surrounded her, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. _Who was there? Irving, Wynne, Leliana…Teagan…Tilley…_ She remembered Alistair beaming and pulling her to the periphery to grant the center to someone else. Recalling her pirouettes returned her to the queasy sensations in her stomach. For a fleeting moment she dreaded their departure for Denerim in the morning. A hand reached into hers.

"Are we off the ship yet? These are rough seas!" Alistair groaned but remained motionless. She had no idea how long she had been there and seemed to have forgotten that she was not alone. She barely recalled getting to her room and wondered if she had done or said anything regrettable while at the party. Turning to her side with some effort, she rested her head in her arms. Alistair rolled toward her and grinned.

"We're going to be a sight in the morning—the whole lot of us," he slurred.

She placed a finger on his lips. Her inhibitions were washed away with brandy.

"We still have hours until the morning. I suggest we enjoy what is left."

She gathered him in her arms and kissed him deeply and slipped her arms beneath his linen tunic. Pressing closer as her fingers danced over his back, warm and dewy from their heat, she allowed his hands to explore down he front, searching for an entrance in her tunic. Her hands made their way to his chest and he sighed, but stiffened and sat up. He gazed at her and returned his lips to hers with a light kiss. Sitting up in bed, he buried his head in his hands and groaned.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this." he muttered.

She sighed, quite contented, but curious as to his present conundrum. "Sorry?"

"Not like this," he turned and looked, stroking her cheek. She grasped the back of this hand and tugged him closer.

"I am quite out of my head. Please don't take this the wrong way. Believe me, this is very hard to do."

Staring at the dying fire, Nuraya tumbled out of bed and staggered over to throw on a log and arrange the embers. She needed to brace herself on the mantle and then lopsidedly turned.

"I know exactly what you mean! Andraste on a pike! I am half in the Fade!" Lurching back, she tripped over the hem of her robe and toppled to the floor. Bursting with laughter, all she could do was lie on the floor and giggle.

"Dear Maker, I thought Wardens were known for holding their liquor!" He shuffled toward her and stood over her, swaying. She grabbed his hand, still in spasms of snorts and cackles, and pulled down. He faltered and then plunged on top on her, causing her to howl even louder. Tears streamed down her face, she laughed and tried to calm herself. Crawling on top of him, she straddled him, placing her hands on either side of his head and hovered over his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I am now…" he grinned and grasped her hips. She lowered to kiss him again, allowing herself to fall to his side.

"We need to get up there." She cocked a finger toward the bed.

"Or we could just stay here."

"The floor is very cold. And hard. I'm going to use my special Warden powers to get over there." And she crawled over to the bed, clung to the bedding and managed to ungracefully pull herself up. The bedcovers gave her just enough leverage to do this. She poked her head over the bed's side and grinned at the very intoxicated Warden splayed out on the stone floor. He looked toward the adjoining door and whined.

"My bed is so far away…"

She held out her hand. "Come, I promise I'll behave."

"I'm not worried about you."

He sat up and awkwardly got to his feet. She patted the bed and he collapsed alongside of her. Nuraya managed to get herself from her robe and endeavored to free her feet from all those laces and then collapsed back on the pillow. Alistair flung his boots across the room and tossed his jerkin onto a nearby chair and crawled under the covers beside her.

"This isn't how I imagined our first night," he sighed. She curled beside him and rest on his shoulder. He stroked her hair.

"Don't worry about it. We'll be full of regret in the morning anyway."

"Maker preserve us."

Within minutes she was unconscious.

~0oOo0~

Nuraya's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door. The light assaulted her head. She felt as she expected–horrible. She padded to the door and poked her head out to see a well-rested Wynne. Stepping out in the hallway, she quietly shut the door.

"Good morning Warden. Irving left at dawn with the Redcliffe guard. He told me not to wake you and sends his regards. The day is waning. I've been rousing the rest of the party so we can make for Denerim before dark. The journey is at least two days by road through South Reach. I am not sure if that is the route you have decided to take…"

Nuraya blinked away the intense light.

"What time is it?" she asked in a raspy croak.

"It's not quite lunch. Suffering from excess celebration, I see. Get cleaned up and meet us in the dining room. Now is not the time to abandon your duties."

Nuraya scratched her head and nodded. She felt chastised, but Wynne was right.

Wynne looked at her perceptively and said, "Alistair is not answering his door. Why don't you wake him?" She smiled and turned down the hallway.

Back in the room, she found a decanter of water and helped herself to a tankard. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she shook Alistair's shoulder. He awoke, squinted at her and groaned.

"Drill sergeant Wynne is mustering the troops."

Alistair rolled away from her and pat the pillow beside him.

"We're the Wardens and I say the whole blasted mission can wait a few hours." She ruffled his hair, fighting the temptation to follow his hand.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Wynne has a point. The Arl cannot wait."

He rolled on to his back and rubbed his head.

"Will you stop pounding my head with a maul?" She handed him a cup of water and instructed him to drink. After some convincing he sat up and accepted it.

"Hey! You have some fancy new healing skills. Why don't you do me the honour?"

"By my staff! Of course!" She placed a hand on Alistair's forehead and conjured a simple healing spell. A warm flow of energy coursed up her arm and into her mind. As it entered the darkness of her thoughts, it appeared as grey thorny vapor. She dispelled it, and then did the same to herself.

"Much better!" He jumped out of bed and tousled the top of her head. He set about the room and gathered his belongings. Nuraya spied the shield in the corner.

"A gift. Courtesy of Isolde." She tossed it at him. Dropping what he had gathered, he caught the kite shield with both hands. Turning it in his hands he nodded approvingly.

"I won't comment how ironic this is…me carrying a gift from Isolde. My younger self would be pleased."

She picked up what he dropped and followed him to his door. She kissed him, and piled the clothing on top of the shield.

"I will see you at lunch."

And with that, the indulgence was over and she set to work. She had to find the ashes where all others had failed, and she hoped the leads they had in Denerim would lead her in the right direction.

* * *

_Special thanks to Kira Tamarion for her magical beta skills and to DoorbellSpider for her enthusiasm and discerning eye for reality. Andrastes Blessings upon the both of you! Of course Bioware owns all, but I own Nuraya's soul. Given all the work ahead of her, I thought Nuraya deserved a night of fun! I so very much appreciate you stopping by to read her story. This story is complete, so you don't have to worry if Nuraya will run out of steam. :D Stay tuned for **Chapter 6: Little Foxes**._


	6. Chapter 6: Little Foxes

It was time for Nuraya's watch. Just as she settled into her robe and curled up against the chill, Leliana stuck her head inside the tent to gently wake her. However, Nuraya had been up for hours. Their camp was sheltered in the foothills of the Frostback Mountains near Haven, deep in an alpine wood. They were returning to Redcliffe with the ashes for Arl Eamon and had another full day of travel ahead of them. No one had seen a single living thing for days. It was if the forest had emptied, leaving nothing but rock and trees. The only good thing about her sudden bout of insomnia was her inability to dream. The Archdemon still hunted her as she slept, and even as she tossed and turned, could sense it lying in wait at the edges of her consciousness. Nuraya sat up, groped for her staff and laced up her boots. Dragging herself to the fire near Leliana, she noticed that the bard looked drained. Night watch was catching up with everyone in camp.

"A quiet night. Nothing to report. Not even a stray animal. Can you sense any Darkspawn?" she yawned as she spoke.

Nuraya concentrated and searched for their familiar signal. "All clear. Go to sleep. I'll wake Morrigan before dawn."

Leliana looked up into the sky. "I have a feeling that it might rain." She reached for some logs and banked the fire.

"Any problems with Zevran? Wynne asked me to keep a close eye on him."

"No. I'm turning in. Guard safely. Maker watch over you." Leliana patted Nuraya reassuringly on the back and retired to her tent.

On their journey to Denerim to seek the Urn of Sacred Ashes, a mob aligned with the Antivan Crows ambushed her company. With the help of Alistair, Leliana and Sten, she eliminated everyone except their leader, a Crow assassin, Zevran Aranai. They learned that Loghain, in his brash attempt to put an end to the Wardens, hired the Crows to assassinate Nuraya and Alistair. Given that Nuraya was responsible for foiling this plot, decided to turn the scheme against Loghain. Now that Zevran's life was forfeited to her, he asked if he could join her company. Her companions, of course, did not accept this request wholeheartedly, but she accepted and stood by her decision, arguing the point that having an assassin on board was both tactical and vindictive.

Morrigan was first to appreciate this decision and welcomed the elf, while Wynne feared that he would slit their throats in their sleep. Sten and Alistair were yet to be convinced that he was reliable enough for night watch. Nuraya did not mind Zevran. He brought a new dynamic to the party and seemed to lighten everyone's dour mood. After a time, he proved to be a capable ally and she decided he was trustworthy enough to be given the occasional night shift. Another set of eyes at night meant more rest for everyone. Sleep was her lover as much as it was her enemy. Her exhausted body no longer cared about her nightmares.

With every step, she yawned and tried to shake her grogginess. There was nothing worse than fighting tiredness during night watch. It made the time crawl even slower and made her more desperate for her cold tent and bedroll. She decided to circle the campsite and find a task to keep her busy. Since everyone was bored, finding such a distraction would be difficult. Sten had sharpened every knife and sword, Wynne and Morrigan replenished their supplies of healing potions and injury kits and Nuraya had mended everything that had any hint of a tear. She tried to come up with a task to occupy her, but came up with nothing.

The desolation of this place was unnerving, especially at night. Nuraya grabbed a metal pot and headed to their closest water source: a brook that ran with water from the mountain's snowmelt. Returning to the fire, she tried to maintain her diligence and listened for anything that might attack. Setting the pot on the fire, she rummaged through their supplies and found a black tea that was popular among the templars. Alistair had purchased it in Denerim and told her it was widely used for just this purpose—to keep night guards from the seduction of sleep. She tossed the dark leaves into the water and scanned the camp again, hearing nothing but the wind rustle through the pines. As she waited for the water to boil, she continued her watch, peering as deep as she could into the wood. Everyone and everything, with the exception of Nuraya, slept. Not even the owls or other night creatures ventured out for a visit. While it made night watch relatively easy, it was hard not to develop a general sense of unease. She decided that her nightmares were having too much influence on her.

Pouring herself a steaming cup of tea, she sat in front of the fire and sipped it as fast as she could manage. The wind changed direction and blew smoke into her eyes. As the tea's effects started to work, she restlessly paced through camp and allowed her mind to wander for a few moments. Not enough to completely distract her from her present task—she had already got herself in trouble for that. Two weeks ago, on a night as dark as still as this, with no activity to keep her occupied, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to have Alistair all to herself, without a Blight, in the comforts of a quiet room and a feather bed. So absorbed in this fantasy, she failed to notice a bear wander into camp and rummage through their garbage. She heard the snort and before she could reach for her staff, it took a swipe at Morrigan's tent. Of course, Morrigan, now awake and in a rage, put a quick end to the beast and spent a long time screaming at Nuraya for her carelessness and lack of sense. Nuraya knew Morrigan was right, but wished she hadn't woken the entire camp with her humiliating reprimand. Tonight, she was not going to let that happen.

At end of her round, she set down the empty cup and continued on. It started to rain, a drop here, another there, until it settled into a steady downpour. Pulling up her hood, she listened to the rain drum on the canvas tents. A sudden movement caught the corner of her eye. She knew for certain that it was not Darkspawn. Over the past few weeks, she had honed her ability recognize the difference between Alistair and a genlock. If anyone asked her to describe this difference, she would have difficulty putting it into words, other than just _knowing_. When they were together for long periods of time, his Warden nature tended to fade into the background. If he were to leave, his signal would disappear, leaving a gaping, lonely hole. _Was this part of being a Warden?_

A fox poked his nose inside Alistair's tent. It sniffed the edges of the door-flaps and inspected the entire area. Its delicate black paws tip-toed with determination around the tent and seemed unbothered by the rain. Completely mesmerized, she wondered if Alistair was in any danger. Surely any food he might have hidden inside might fall victim to a hungry fox, but she doubted that he was in any immediate physical danger. Deciding that magic was not required, she reached for a stone and decided to give it a bit of a scare.

She knocked its tail, just enough to draw its attention without imposing any harm. Its eyes, reflecting green in the firelight, stared into hers. It stood and watched her, with a paw poised in the air, ready to dart into the wood at the first unexpected movement. In a loud whisper, she tried to shoo it away while waving her arms. It maintained its gaze and nonchalantly, sniffed the ground and wandered to the edges of camp, completely unconcerned with Nuraya's activity. Quietly, she followed, just to observe its black-tipped ears, snowy under belly and copper fur. The only animals Nuraya had any contact with in the Circle, were the rats and the cats that hunted them. Casually, it sat and scratched its chin with a hind quarter and returned to the tent. She wondered what drew it there. What perplexed her more than the inquisitive fox was why her Warden signal gently nagged her. The snores buzzing from the interior of the tent suggested that it was too subtle to wake Alistair. She was not sensing Alistair.

Creeping closer, trying to avoid sudden movement or sound, she closed in. It tipped its dark nose to meet the rain, sniffed the air and looked directly in her eyes.

"Follow me," said a feminine voice in her mind. The hairs on her arms stood up straight and she froze. The patter of rain filled her ears and water started to drip from the edge of her hood. She was absolutely convinced that this was not her imagination or her exhausted mind playing tricks on her.

"Come, this way. Don't be afraid. Follow me," spoke the voice again, as if it knew Nuraya was questioning the reality of the last statement.

Slowly and with caution, Nuraya took her staff and followed. The fox, still sniffing, briskly pranced into the wood. Nuraya stopped in front of a dripping pine limb, wondering if she should strike it dead. Although she sensed no ill-intent, demons came in many shapes and forms. She feared she was being drawn into a trap. Perhaps it worked in tandem with another more fearsome creature that would attack her companions in their sleep. The fox scampered in the forest, passing through a cluster of fern and stopped to ensure that Nuraya still followed.

"I understand your trepidation. Come, I wish to remain concealed until I am out of sight. Do not worry, you are safe, as are your companions," assured the voice. _What manner of Demon bewitches me?_ She had the ability to sense a seductive malevolence, but started to doubt herself. Many hours of training in the Circle prepared her to identify evil forces anxious to push through the veil. As she pushed aside the wet bough to get a better look, she did not detect any suspicious spirits trying to cross the boundaries of the veil. Beside a giant spruce stood an elderly woman with the same piercing gaze as the fox. Nuraya tentatively approached. Although the woman was small in stature, she had a commanding presence. Her white hair, piled on top of her head in intricate braids, revealed her pointed ears. Based on her appearance, Nuraya concluded that she wasn't a city elf. She and wore a doeskin dress, decorated in intricate beading. Her feet were clad in simple leather boots. Fox fur lined the collar of her rough woolen cape. This was not the traditional dress of the Dalish, either. She could not guess the nationality of the elf.

"Come, mage. I wish to speak with you. I apologize for frightening you. It is difficult to draw your attention without alerting the rest of your camp."

"Who are you?" Nuraya's relief that an elf of unknown origin was speaking to her, turned into bewilderment.

"A friend."

Nuraya noticed the intricate swirls of her vallaslin decorating her forehead and chin. Her wide, amber eyes glimmered beside the tip of her glowing staff.

"My friends have names, stranger." Nuraya remained cautious.

"If I told you that I was a friend of Duncan's, would that allay your worry?"

"It might. Or I might think you've acquired this information to falsely gain my trust."

The woman reached into a pouch that hung from her belt and held out a pendant for Nuraya to see. It was a Warden's Oath, similar to her own, but older. The woman dangled it over the palm of her hand, brought it to her lips and blew gently. As the pendant swayed in the gentle air currents, it projected an image of Duncan into Nuraya's mind. Nuraya had seen this spell before. The senior enchanters at the Circle would perform this to ensure that a book or sacred object was authentic and free of evil influence. Relaxing, she was reassured that the elf was not a demon in disguise, and was a friend of Duncan's.

"So what brings you in the middle of nowhere…friend?" Nuraya used the term "friend" pointedly. "Are you a Warden, elf? Is it you I sense?"

"I was. I cannot claim that title anymore." The woman returned the pendant to her pouch and her penetrating gaze to Nuraya.

"But once you take the Joining…it's a lifelong commitment. You just don't _quit _the Grey Wardens. We're facing a Blight—we could use your help!"

"I am no longer bound to your brotherhood, mage. The Warden's don't need this wizened old elf." She crossed her arms and shifted her weight. Tipping her chin with a sense of authority, she said, "Duncan told me about you. Asked me to keep an eye on you. He knew you would need my help."

This made no sense to Nuraya. She thought that Duncan chose her because she refused to support Jowan. She had no clue that he had any prior knowledge of her. Why would he ask this woman to keep an eye on her? After all, he was not planning on dying at Ostagar. And what help did she need that was not connected to the Blight?

"An eye on me?"

"He was interested in you for a long time. I suspect he would have formally introduced us, had he survived the massacre. He was a good friend, whose memory I honour. This is why I stand before you tonight."

Nuraya was at a loss for words. The elf must have read her confused expression and continued.

"You will have to be satisfied with my unanswered questions. There are some secrets that are not mine to reveal."

"Then why lure me away from my companions, why come to me at all?"

The elf leaned against the spruce and curled up the corner of her mouth. "You shall be my next apprentice."

"Apprentice? Are you from the Circle? I was Irving's apprentice before Duncan recruited me. Did Irving send you?"

The elf furrowed her brow. "The Circle is nothing more than a pox upon Thedas. It will be my job to cure that illness."

The response startled as much as it intrigued her. Nuraya hoped that this conversation would not lead to suggestions of using demons or blood-magic.

"Then you'll have to be a little more forthcoming. A Blight threatens Ferelden and I have every intention of putting an end to it. I'll need a little more information, and an extraordinary reason for me to delay." Nuraya crossed her arms, growing tired of the confusion and demands. The woman chuckled, then approached, affectionately placing a hand on Nuraya's cheek. Nuraya stiffened, but noticed a kindly expression in her eyes. Irving gave her similar looks. Inside her wide amber eyes, she sensed profound wisdom, kindness, and hope.

"Duncan chose you well. Your guard is strong. Don't let it drop. Not even for me. End this Blight. I dare not ask you to diverge from this path. But one day, when your task has been completed, I will find you, and you will be ready to work with me."

"And do what?"

"What, of all things in this world, do you desire most?"

It was a dream she had from the moment the templars collected her. Nuraya answered without hesitation, "Independence. To break our bonds from the Chantry."

The elf closed her eyes and nodded. "Then this is what we shall do. In the meantime, there is something you can do…in preparation for this."

"Wait. All attempts to free the Circle from the Chantry have failed in the past. Mages turn to blood magic and give the Chantry even more reason to keep us in bondage. Don't even think that I will aid you if I must turn to blood magic." Nuraya pointed a finger accusatively at the mage.

"And that is the reason why I ask you. Blood magic is just a tool of the Chantry. I have reason to believe that the Chantry created this dark art and let the mages think they had found a new power. They wanted to corrupt the mages so they would have reason to control them. Blood magic is nothing but a trap. When mages think they have uncovered the best weapon to use against the Chantry, it turns out that they use it against themselves. This is not the way. I choose another path."

"Interesting theory. But Dumat taught blood magic to Thalsian, or if you believe in more recent scholarship, the Imperium stole it from Arlathan. Blood magic is much older than the Chantry."

"And who teaches us this history? This is what the Chantry would have us believe. Recorded history only serves to perpetuate our oppression. And in turn, serves to keep mages under its perpetual control."

Nuraya found herself attracted to this theory. Her education taught her that the mages brought evil into the world and caused the Blights. Finally, she discovered an alternative, a reason to believe she was not just a curse upon Thedas. She didn't know whether she was going to offer her support to this stranger or not. But her curiosity was piqued, and she wanted to know more.

"So what would you have me do then?"

"Ah, so you will consider my invitation? I am pleased. You need to convince your fellow Warden to take what is rightfully his."

Nuraya chuckled. "If you have any suggestions, I am all ears. He's not interested in claiming the throne. Part of me thinks that a reluctant heir will make a poor ruler. Ferelden will need a strong leader to stand up to the Chantry."

"This is your task, this is the preparation I speak of. Convince him, or even better—create a situation where he comes to this conclusion on his own. He must claim what is rightfully his."

"And why Alistair?" Of course the answer was obvious to Nuraya, but she wanted to hear the stranger's rationale. Perhaps the elf knew more of Loghain and Anora.

The mage turned away and paced through the wood, raising her hand to brush it through the low hanging boughs.

"Tell me, have you been to Denerim?"

"Yes, about a month ago."

"By chance, did Alistair meet up with a woman that goes by the name Goldanna?"

"Yes. She turned him away. Not very sister-like." Recalling Goldanna's reaction to meeting Alistair still raised Nuraya's ire. The woman was ignorant and rude. She only cared about her past hardships. One does not simply turn on your brother the moment you meet him. After all, family has to mean something.

"That is because she is not his sister, although she is unaware of that as well."

"What do you mean? Is Alistair not Maric's bastard?" If this were the case, seating Alistair on the throne could prove to be quite difficult.

"He is Maric's son, a true Theirin through and through. Duncan and I kept this secret long after Maric's death. Duncan watched over Alistair closely, and when the time was right, recruited him into the Grey Wardens. With Duncan's tragic passing, this secret must be shared with another living soul. It cannot die with me."

"Why me? Why not tell Alistair?"

"Because he cannot know the truth."

"And what is the _truth_?"

"Who else would know the truth, except for his mother?"

Her answer was like a slap to Nuraya's face. It shocked as well as stunned. Nuraya's thoughts reeled, frantically stringing together the threads of a surreal tapestry.

"That means he is part…that he has magic in his bloodline…" She could barely speak the words aloud.

The elven mage blinked slowly and nodded. "The nobility would never accept his claim if they knew. But once he claims the throne, once there is an heir, there will be little that they can do."

Suddenly, the implications of the elf's request became clear. It was a dangerous secret and one that could change Ferelden forever. If he claimed the throne and Nuraya revealed this to him, it could be the one and only loophole to allow them to remain together. She doubted the Chantry would risk open war with the nobility over the fact that magic made its way into the royal lineage. That thought was very appealing, even more than working as this stranger's apprentice to free the mages from the Chantry.

"How you know of me and of my trustworthiness remains a mystery, stranger. However, I will keep your secret. I will tell no living soul unless you grant me permission. Leave me to fight this Blight, and I will do everything within my power to see that Alistair claims what is rightfully his."

The mage nodded, embraced Nuraya and kissed her on the forehead.

"I shall find you then, when the time is right. I am Fiona." She turned and stood in the middle of the wood, looked skyward and brought her palms together over her head. Before Nuraya could blink, the elf transformed into an Orlesian grey owl and stretched out her impressive wings and flew out of the forest canopy.

Still reeling from her strange meeting, she headed back to camp, hoping that no harm had befallen her companions during her absence. She realized that it had stopped raining. Overhead, she noticed the constellation Hessarian and the tip of his flaming sword poke through the clouds. Nuraya wondered if this was some sort of portent that related to her meeting with Fiona, or merely an indication of finer weather on the horizon. Now wide awake, she scanned the camp and noticed that the mysterious Warden signal had disappeared.

Back in camp, she saw Alistair encouraging the fire with more wood.

"Can't sleep?" Nuraya asked. He turned to the sound of her voice and held out his arm, inviting her under it. She nuzzled under his chin.

"Had a nightmare. Decided to give up the ghost and stretch out. Where were you?" He embraced her tightly. She snuggled in his warmth and realized how cold she was.

Nuraya almost wanted to laugh out loud and say _I was just talking to your Elf-mage mother that's who! _Secrets were seductive and always begged to be exposed. Knowing better, she sighed.

"I heard something in the forest. Went to check it out."

"Anything serious?"

"Just a fox," she answered. Alistair pushed a log closer to the fire and invited her to sit.

"I can't stop thinking about Goldanna." He stared into the fire, his weariness still present in his face.

"We gave her as much coin as we could spare. That should help her for the time being." She needed to sound convincing. This was the negative side of secrets. Conversations required extra effort, to make sure nothing slipped.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"No, I'm an only child. I guess when my parents learned that they carried magic in their blood they decided to quit while they were ahead."

"I grew up thinking I was all alone. And then I found out about Cailan. Not that I was allowed to be his brother. I thought Goldanna would be thrilled to have a brother. After meeting her, I feel even more alone and abandoned. Why would she do that?"

Nuraya grasped his hand. "She doesn't deserve you, Alistair. Everyone is out for themselves. Put yourself first for a change. No one else will." Nuraya realized that her chance to lay Fiona's groundwork came sooner than she anticipated. "And for the record, you will never be alone, so long as I am around." She turned and kissed him. It wasn't part of a plot. She truly meant what she said.

He traced his thumb down her cheek. "Makers tears. I'm so glad you were there."

Alistair yawned and ran his fingers through his hair. "Maybe you are right. I keep replaying the situation over in my mind, wondering what I might have said differently."

"There is nothing you could have done. You cannot change her bitterness, as much as you cannot change your parentage. Just forget about her."

"Easier said than done. You want to hear something strange?"

Nuraya was not sure she was in the mood for any more peculiar tales. But, she was quite sure that Alistair would not be able to top her recent discussion in the forest. She poked the fire with a stick and allowed it to catch fire. "Sure," she said finally.

"I swear I sensed another Warden here. Kind of reminded me of Duncan. It woke me up from my nightmare."

"Dreams have a funny way of playing with your mind, Alistair. We are the only surviving Wardens in Ferelden. You must have sensed me."

"Well, that's the thing. When I sense you, I know it's you. This was someone else, someone familiar…close to me."

"Well, I have no idea who that might be, it's just you, me and the foxes."

* * *

_Many thanks to Kira Tamarion for her beta magic and setting me down the path of grammatically correctness. A huge shout out to DoorbellSpider for her comments that push me to bring out the best in my writing :) Thanks so much reader, for stopping by. Leave a review! Bioware owns all, but I own Nuraya's soul :)_


	7. Chapter 7: Betwixt and Between

As the sun set behind the Brecilian forest, a continuous sheet of swallows peppered the citrine sky. They skimmed the tree tops and filled the air with whirring wings and anxious chatter. Nuraya looked skyward to marvel at the gathering flock and wondered if they could foretell the approaching Blight. After hours of hiking through the old forest, the smell of wood smoke was a welcoming sign. From far away, Nuraya could sense Alistair. Although her companions were not yet in sight, she imagined him looking up from whatever task that occupied him to detect her in return. Walking single file through the rough trail, she followed Sten, Morrigan and Leliana, quite contented not to be in the lead. Leliana was whistling absent-mindedly and Sten, at the front, used a machete to clear the brambles and the thorns from their path.

Wynne stood at the edge of camp to greet everyone as they arrived. "We were wondering when you'd return. Some of us have been more anxious than others."

She turned toward Alistair, who was trying to look busy. Nuraya wondered if Wynne was indicating some sort of acceptance of their relationship, or was reminding her that she knew what was going on despite the concerns she voiced in Redcliffe. Nuraya was reluctant to raise the issue with her, fearful of getting another lecture.

As soon as she caught a glimpse of Alistair, her stomach flip-flopped and she wanted to run at break-neck speed into his arms. Before heading deep into the Brecilian wilds, she convinced Alistair to command the remaining party in her absence. She had not seen him for three weeks, but it felt more like thirty.

Even though they still kept separate tents, his absence left a hole inside her, one that she was incapable of filling. Not being able to steal knowing glances or sneak away with him in the evenings left her feeling alone and vulnerable. Battle seemed to only intensify this feeling. Although she trusted the others, it was not the same as having Alistair with her. Even when fenced by the enemy, he always provided her with an extra sense of security. With every decision she made, she could not turn and automatically feel his approval or apprehension.

Nuraya was sure he would have welcomed a passionate greeting, but instead she approached him with reserve and tried to mask her smile. His look betrayed his worries and relief, as well as his affection toward her. Before their brief separation, he often followed her into the wood as she foraged for herbs and roots and steal lengthy embraces under the cold moonlight. They still maintained their secret and continued to hide their feelings from their companions. Regardless, she was almost certain that their affection for each other was commonly known among the group, and perhaps silently accepted.

Despite her excitement, her feelings about their relationship had caused as many sleepless nights as her nightmares did. During her time away, she found herself at a crossroads with him. A feeling of reluctance grew in the pit of her belly. Staying with Alistair meant standing out and taking a stand. The longer she was away from him, the more nervous and afraid she grew. It was one thing to want to challenge the Chantry, but it was another matter entirely to make that happen.

Pulling her from the other direction was Fiona's request, and the distant hope that their backgrounds could be reconciled after the Blight. At the same time, she cared deeply for Alistair, and was not sure if she was capable of manipulating him into accepting his birthright. The thought of coercing him to take Cailan's place felt very wrong, dishonest and hurtful. Maybe once the rest of the world learned of his true heritage, logic would prevail and they would be able to stay together. Nuraya could no longer tell whether this was possible or pure fantasy. As she settled into camp, she realized that being away from Alistair was as complicated as being with him. In the face of such difficulties, she would rather do nothing and remain alone.

She crawled inside her tent and deposited her staff, but kept her pack swung over her shoulder, as she inspected her bedroll; she wanted to ensure no creature had sought refuge inside. Her head poked back outside, meeting Alistair's magnetic glance. At that moment, the choice to remain alone felt impossible.

Friendly chatter drifted with the wafting smoke of the campfire. With the group now back together, Wynne, Alistair and Zevran looked forward to a long night of storytelling to break the monotony of their camp routine. Even though she was having second thoughts, all she wanted to do at that moment was sneak away with Alistair. Her aching desire always seemed to win over her long-term concerns. Nuraya did not like the way the whims of her heart tossed her every which way, like a dory on a rough ocean.

"So, can we count on the Dalish for their support?" Alistair asked, and passed Nuraya a bowl of roasted hare and wild roots. She already missed the Dalish's hospitality. Their ability to create marvellous dishes using only what the Brecilian forest provided, was legendary. For now, her hollow and growling stomach would have to settle for tough game and tasteless vegetables. Wynne tried to spice it up with what herbs she was able to find. With fall quickly drawing to a close and winter nipping at their heels, Nuraya's palate would have to settle for more humble fare and dared not think of the possibility of hunger once winter set in.

"Yes, the Dalish have agreed to support us."

"I have always heard that the Dalish were reasonable, despite being a tad reclusive." Zevran said. He leaned forward and flicked his blonde hair from his face. Dark tattoos decorated his high cheekbones, adding extra dimension to the shadows that already danced there. He sat with his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. There was a child-like quality to him, something like a young mabari; frisky and full of unbridled energy yet ready to pounce for your throat if threatened.

Leliana smirked. "You make it sound easy."

"It would have been easier if their leader had not betrayed his people." Sten grumbled. His interpretations of events always entertained Nuraya. She liked to listen to others in camp try to have a conversation with him and stumble through Qunari logic.

"What do you mean Sten?" Wynne took the bait.

Nuraya sat back, looking forward to Sten's enigmatic philosophies and Wynne's efforts to decode his meaning. She knew Wynne well enough to know that the discussion would stay light-hearted. During her time away, she enjoyed distantly observing how Morrigan related to Sten. Unlike Morrigan's attitude toward Alistair, she was quite civil with the Qunari. Their discussions always ended up in heated debate or silence. As much as Sten established firm boundaries between right and wrong, Morrigan insisted on blurring them, yet they always ended up agreeing with each other on certain points.

There was one particular conversation that Sten compared her to a sundew, a flower that traps and devours insects. Morrigan, was impressed and Nuraya could swear that Morrigan flirted with him in return. Nuraya was sure that flirting was an alien act in Par Vollen and imagined any sexual act between a male and female Qunari was undertaken only when required and necessary. As much as she tried, she could never imagine a Qunari youngling. Were they carefree and happy? Was this austerity inherited or were the children socialized to be so rigid?

She was sitting crossed-legged in front of the fire and noticed that Alistair's hand started to creep under her knee. She pulled them up and wrapped her arms around them. She didn't need more fodder for Wynne's suspicions, or lurid comments from Zevran, who did not seem to appreciate discretion in the same way she did.

"The Dalish leader Zathrian demonstrated no honour to his people. He chose to focus on seeking revenge with a group of humans and failed to notice that his actions harmed his people as a result. So blinded by his anger, he weakened his people."

"What did he do?" Wynne asked. Sten's tales were rarely satisfying, so Nuraya stepped in.

"A group of humans wronged the clan over a century ago. So, to exact his revenge, he bound the spirit of the forest into a wolf, called Witherfang. Of course, this backfired on Zathrian. Witherfang and her werewolves infected any being that entered the forest. There was no cure and the victims had to be killed. The Dalish clan was no longer able to hunt in the forest."

"Werewolves! I had heard there were troubles plaguing the Dalish, but I had no idea the situation was that dire. What did you do Nuraya? Did you find a cure?" asked Wynne.

Leliana piped up. "The situation was quite tense. Zathrian was too afraid to die, but he had to in order to end the curse. The beautiful lady of the forest would also die in the process. Nuraya was able to negotiate with Zathrian, and convinced him to sacrifice himself. It was quite beautiful actually. Witherfang got her desire for eternal rest, the Werewolves were unbound from their curse and the Dalish are now free to hunt in their wood."

"Let us not forget that Nuraya's negotiations involved hand-to-hand combat." Morrigan said matter-of-factly.

The companions erupted into a chattering rumble of surprise.

"And you still managed to convince the Keeper to honor the Warden's treaty? Impressive!" Alistair said incredulously.

Sten leaned back and crossed his arms. His expression was unchanged. "Let us hope this new leader is not as weak as her predecessor. We do not want a group of weak-minded elves fighting the Blight."

"I'm sure their support will be adequate, Sten," Nuraya said.

"So what other trouble did you get into?" Alistair asked.

"Well, other than finding a trapped spirit within an abandoned ruin, it was pretty routine." Nuraya winked.

"I suppose you killed that too," he said.

"Well seeing that it was already dead, no. I set it free. And as a reward, it taught me how to mix magic with weaponry." She elbowed Alistair, hoping to remind him of that promise he had made in the Circle library.

"Nuraya, your magic is the superior weapon. No need to stoop to using clumsy tools." Morrigan said. She could not have set up the situation any better. Surely Alistair would want to teach her how to handle a sword, if only to spite Morrigan.

"Then am I to assume we are to make for the Frostback mountains, my dear Warden?" Zevran asked

Nuraya shook her head. "Once we recover and replenish our supplies, we'll head for Orzammar."

Zevran grinned. "A three week hike across Ferelden; this is quite a feat, don't you agree? Ah, I remember, quite fondly, escorting a group of whores being sold to a pirate in Rivain. Such a memorable excursion…"

She had grown accustomed to his Antivan cadence. What she was not accustomed to was his incessant flirtations. Noticing that he attempted to seduce Leliana and Morrigan as well, suggested his behaviour was some form of Antivan cultural nuance. When he first joined the company, his advances were quite direct, and often made Nuraya's cheeks burn with embarrassment. Nuraya believed that he sensed her pairing with Alistair and cooled his flirtations. Part of her regretted that, as she quite enjoyed watching Alistair burn with jealousy.

"Just think of how we will delight in the pouring rain only to be greeted with the driving snow," Morrigan's sarcasm had remained quite intact. She tried to make friends with Morrigan and had not decided if her harsh exterior protected a soft vulnerability, or if she was truly sharp as thorns through and through.

"I can't say that I'm looking forward to the journey any more than you. Maker knows how long we will miss the sun and the open sky." She hoped that securing the Dwarven alliance was not going to be as complicated as sorting out Redcliffe and the Dalish.

"Well, if I am to climb a mountain, then I suppose I had better rest," Morrigan sighed loudly and stood to leave.

"Mind if I follow you?" Nuraya asked. It was too early to try and plot her nightly escape with Alistair. While she waited, she decided to distract herself, hoping that Wynne would grow tired and retire early. She hoped Leliana's tales of their journey within the forest weren't too compelling. She secured her pack on her shoulder, full of a wide assortment of herbs, plants and ingredients.

"You would appear at my shelter even if it did bother me." Nuraya recognized this as her way of saying yes. As she left the fire with Morrigan, she could feel Alistair's eyes on her. She assumed he was relieved that she was not off strolling with the Antivan. Zev, on the other hand, was quite engrossed in conversation with Leliana. She seemed to enjoy the attention and Nuraya had to wonder if another company pairing was inevitable.

Nuraya was spending more time with Morrigan in the evenings and had had learned how to craft poisons and other remedies during her visits. Morrigan was keen on learning Circle-based magic. Nuraya never quite understood how Morrigan used magic or how it appeared in her mind. Morrigan was utterly fascinated with arcane geometry and frequently asked Nuraya to explain the images and music that she brought to her dark still thoughts. Morrigan's ability to ignore established boundaries always fascinated Nuraya, and hoped she could better learn this skill in return.

With Morrigan, she began to feel comfortable as a mage. Morrigan appreciated her abilities far more than Nuraya ever had. All the rules, the boundaries and limitations drilled into her head by the Chantry and the Circle were as captive as the stone walls. Morrigan reminded her where her unconscious walls stood. Despite this, she always had sense that Morrigan was withholding something. What that might be, she could not begin to guess.

Sitting by Morrigan's private fire, she helped formulate a poison that the archers could use to coat the tips of their arrows. Morrigan could recite every preparation detail from memory. Poison was a skill that was not taught in the Circle. Nuraya always paid close attention to absorb the details of each preparation. Morrigan tended to skip many details, thus making Nuraya forever dependent upon her.

"I notice a political alliance forming between the Antivans and the Orlesians," Morrigan remarked as she crushed deathroot with her mortar and pestle. Nuraya absent mindedly stirred a simmering pot of gummy sap and wolf fat that would eventually serve as the binding agent. She mumbled in acknowledgment and stirred the gluey substance to prevent the mixture from burning to the bottom of the pot.

"Add more water to that," Morrigan remarked offhandedly. "Well, I have to say that I am rather shocked that you are not prattling on with this morsel of gossip. I would think that you would be pleased that you are no longer the topic of conversation."

Nuraya added a few drops of spider venom to the pot at Morrigan's request.

"Okay, take it off the heat. It's ready. Carefully now…give it to me." Over the next few moments the women finished the poison and set it in the bush to cool. Even Morrigan could not bear the stench. They settled by the fire and she handed Nuraya an open bottle of wine.

"Here, this may loosen your tongue."

"I need to make a decision… tonight." Nuraya said simply and drank, then handing off the bottle to her companion.

"Ah. A difficult one then, I take it. I suppose this concerns you and that dim-witted Chantry boy."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Please, I see how you watch each other. I cannot claim to understand most folk in Ferelden, but you I thought I would be able to figure out. However, 'tis one of those rare instances where I am wrong. Here, you fret about the fate of these ignorant and filthy lowlanders."

"I am a mage just like you. It is about time our voices were heard. You have no idea how lucky you are Morrigan. I was held prisoner in that fetid tower, for no crime other than being born. I refuse to hide any longer. I belong here as much as anyone. But now it seems that my boldness comes at a price and I must sacrifice what I want for the greater good."

"Oh, so now we speak of the fate of mages and not of your love life? I don't see what sacrifice you speak of. It seems straightforward as far as I am concerned. You want Chantry boy and some altruistic plan to liberate the mages. Go on then, you have much work to accomplish." Morrigan flicked her hand and pointed to the edge of the wild.

"I wish it were as simple as that. Alistair is heir and I am a Mage. In the real world, the two cannot coexist together."

"Never choose a path mapped by someone else. Take your own. And if there is no path in that direction, make one." Morrigan said matter-of-factly.

"It's that easy?" Nuraya swallowed another mouthful and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

"If we are discussing what might be easy, then I suggest you should do what others expect of you."

"…and always live in regret."

"A failed attempt is better than living in regret. Do what you want. Ignore the rest. End of story." It was Morrigan's turn with the wine. She held the bottle in front of her and pursed her lips together with a mischievous grin. "Besides, I am sure he has _much_ to offer you."

Nuraya caught the innuendo and reached for the near empty bottle. "To be honest I wouldn't know."

Morrigan's mouth dropped open in shock. "All that sneaking off in the middle of the night and you tell me this! What are you waiting for? All feelings aside, just enjoy the pleasures of bedding a man. If he didn't annoy me so I might be tempted to see what is beneath his armor." She winked and finished off the wine. "And I will add, that this type of frustration does nothing for you in battle. The difference is quite palatable my friend." Morrigan rummaged through her belongings and produced a small container of salve, and tossed it in Nuraya's lap. "Here. Use this. It will prevent any unnecessary _complications_ from your coupling."

"What do I do with it?" She opened the lid and smelled. It was rather bland and had an innocuous aroma, perhaps a hint of saffron and something else she could not place.

"Did the Circle teach you nothing of such matters? Do I have to sit down and explain everything myself? Use this on him. He will quite enjoy the… application."

Nuraya's cheeks were burning. She should have guessed its purpose. Given that Mages were not permitted to marry or have any sexual relationships, her education was left to what gossip circulated. Now she completely understood what the older mages meant when they referred to "dabbing the salve." She reached for her pack and tossed the jar inside. She realized she was still lugging around that mysterious book that Irving had given her. Unsure at the time whether she should hand it over, and then never finding the right moment, she decided it was time to part ways with the extra weight.

"We'll make a trade —the special little jar for this." And she placed the book in Morrigan's lap. She looked at Nuraya inquisitively and leafed through the pages. Her eyes widened as she discovered what she was given.

"Where did you get this?"

"I found it at the Circle, when we were there cleaning up Uldred's mess."

"Why have you held it for so long?"

Nuraya shrugged. "I forgot that I had it. I can take it back if you don't want it…" she jokingly reached for it but Morrigan pulled it out of reach.

"Have you any idea what you concealed from me all this time?"

"Obviously no. If I knew it was of any importance, I may have offered it sooner."

"This is Flemeth's grimoire. Her magic is detailed in here and could provide us with power not seen in Thedas for an age. Give me time to go through it." Morrigan turned away from Nuraya and buried her head in the book. Nuraya took the hint and gathered her things.

"Have fun with that."

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder and said "I suspect you will have a better adventure with _my_ gift to you…"

Nuraya bid Morrigan a good night and headed toward her tent. The main fire was now a heap of cinders. She tossed a few logs on top and noticed Sten doing his rounds, now passing Bodhan's cart. At her tent, she saw Alistair's Warden's Oath pendant hanging on the dolly of the tent, suspended in front of the door. This was their signal to each other. They both possessed the amulet to symbolize their joining and now it suggested something more personal, more secret. She pocketed it and tossed her pack inside. Glaring at it for a second, she reached inside the satchel and retrieved Morrigan's gift and stuffed it in her pocket. _Just in case_, she thought. She pulled her hood over her head and headed out toward the edges of the wild. Sten strode toward her and pointed toward his left.

"The Warden is waiting in this direction, Kadan."

She nodded and grinned. She and Alistair were the worst kept secret in all of Ferelden, all of Thedas, if she permitted herself to be so bold.

She spied a path trampled into the hedge of cedar and ducked under its canopy. Alistair sat against a log and stood when he saw her approach. Dashing into the clearing, she flung herself at him and kissed him. He squeezed her and swung her around.

"Three weeks is far too long. I almost fell asleep listening to Leliana. She has this way of going on and on and on." He grabbed her hands and sat her on the blanket he had placed by the log. Like magnets, they were drawn together, his mouth exploring the depths of hers, her hands tangled within his.

"Why do we have to maintain our _dirty little secret_ then?" She asked, not wanting to pull her lips away from Alistair's.

"And have the whole camp look at us awkwardly and whisper behind our backs?"

"I wager that this is already happening. Must we continue this charade? It only suggests that we're hiding something wrong."

He strummed his fingers down her back, mulling over what she had said.

She inhaled sharply and leaned in closer. "I am beginning to feel hurt that you need time to consider this."

"No, don't think that way. We have more to consider now. I guess I wasn't quite prepared."

"People need to get used to the idea of…us. If we can't do that in front of our friends, then what's the point? Let's just take this one step at a time. Together."

He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly. "Together. I quite like that."

She took a deep breath. "Now we have that out of the way, we need to talk about the other dragon in the room. Have you given any more thought to your claim to the throne?"

He groaned.

"You can't keep avoiding the issue. Now that Eamon is well, he has, without a doubt, started laying the groundwork with the nobility."

"Yes, I expected this. Ironic how I was nothing but an inconvenience to him not too long ago? Power seems to have a way to changing people's mind's rather quickly. I keep turning the idea over in my head and I can't seem to warm up to the idea. Did Duncan suspect this I wonder? Was he conspiring to link the throne with the Wardens?"

_Link the throne with the Wardens, Elves and mages all in one sweep! _While Nuraya could only guess what Duncan's motivations were, she knew he took Alistair under his wing. Perhaps he felt sorry that Alistair would be used as pawn in the great political battles that waged around them. Maybe he recruited Alistair to shelter him from this. At this point, she could only guess.

Nuraya shrugged. "What is past is prologue. We both know we have to depose Loghain. I fear that his influence will continue if Anora is left on the throne. I'd sooner see the whole lot of them disappear from Denerim. So, with the both of them out of our way, we are only left with one good option."

"Me. And what if Loghain disappeared and we left Anora on the throne?" he replied reluctantly.

"I've given this some thought. The only way to make Loghain disappear is to send him to the void. Do you suppose that would warm Anora to you? She'd hunt you down even more fiercely and we can only assume her hatred of mages would grow deeper. Is that what you want?"

Alistair played with her hair. "Of course not."

Nuraya pulled her fingers through his sandy hair and looked into his eyes. "You'll make a good King,. Okay, politics may not be the most interesting occupations in the land, but you will have Teagan and Arl Eamon for counsel. It won't be long before you'll be able to influence matters yourself. Think about it, you could end the enslavement of the Elves and perhaps even alter the fate for my sort."

"Your sort? Oh Maker." He rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples with his index and thumb. "I can't even begin to fathom what sort of mess that might entail. Do you know how impossible it is to reason with the Chantry? Makes me ill thinking about it."

This comment offended her as much as it took her off guard. She grew dangerously close to revealing that secret she bore. If he knew about the identity of his mother, he might not be as reluctant. She pursed her lips.

"So you would rather not even try? Think about all the children who are abducted by the Templars and imprisoned by the Chantry. Every day they do this! And for what? Because they are _cursed_? Think about a Ferelden with a population of mages who are trusted and honored. Our enemies would fear us! The power to do this lies in your very grasp Alistair, and I can't believe that you would refuse it, because of your ire for the Chantry."

"I would rather remain a Grey Warden and be with you." He tried to clasp her hands, but she was already on her feet and enraged.

Her anger was so quick to flare, she was not prepared for it. Without even thinking, she ranted.

"Think about that for a moment, Alistair. When the Blight is over, the vacuum of power will be filled, and quickly. The Chantry may even throw their weight around. Even if we manage to get rid of Loghain and Anora, someone will claim the throne. And then what? You will always be a threat, as you are the rightful heir. I will never be able to stay in Ferelden. I'll be an apostate Grey Warden pariah. We'd be hunted and pursued our entire lives. Is that the life we want?"

"We could go to Weisshaupt. Please don't be angry. Can't you see that I just want what is best for the both of us?" Alistair straightened up. He kept his voice even.

"I don't want to end my life in another prison. I'm done with it! Done! I spent my whole life in a tower and told I was no better than rubbish. Oh, let me correct that. Dangerous rubbish."

"I don't think you are rubbish! I don't get you Nuraya. You of all people should be the last to want me to be King of Ferelden. We could have a future. This whole mage and chantry business—this is not our fight. "

"What are you talking about?" Tears began to fill her eyes. Part of her was stunned that she was not contented to run off with Alistair and completely disregard the troubles in Ferelden. Fiona's secret had no influence on her at this moment, it was her heart. Now that she was on the run from Loghain, she knew that this was not freedom. Turning her back, she conjured all her remaining strength, to keep the tears from falling. She knew he was right and he was being fair. However, part of her knew that running away was just another form of prison. Fate did not conspire to release her from the tower so she could run away and abandon every good mage in the land.

He slowly approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She trembled beneath his touch. He turned her around and tipped her chin up so he could see her.

"I care very deeply for you, don't you see that? I don't want the world to come between us. Please. Let's be Warden's first."

She could feel his tenderness and was grateful that he was trying harder at logic than she, but her anger boiled over yet again. "I am a _mage_! I was born a mage, I will die a mage. Being a mage will always define me first. A world with a Tower and a Chantry is not a world I want to defend. Whatever exists between us, it's real, but I don't think that it is enough for me to forget who I am and blind me to this injustice." Each word she spoke stabbed him visibly. "Alistair, I love you, more than you can fathom, I love you. Please, at least think about this, please tell me you will at least try," she pleaded. She couldn't believe she allowed the words I love you escape her lips. Even though she truly felt this, letting them escape made her feel even more vulnerable.

"You don't understand. As King, you cannot be in my life. Just because I rule Ferelden doesn't mean I am the Maker. The Chantry wields power. The wounds from the Orlesian invasion have barely healed. As King I could not taunt the Divine in Val Royeaux by expelling all the Templars and freeing the mages! Do you want an Exalted March upon us when we are weakest? This is utter futility Nuraya, can't you see that? I cannot hope to change the situation for mages even in my lifetime."

"We have to try Alistair."

"There will be no we, with me on the throne" he answered, crossing his arms.

Brimming with despair, she turned and ran. She was not angry at Alistair. Reality just smacked her in the face.

Charging out of the clearing, she did not bother to notice if he followed. She crawled into her tent and proceeded to sob allowing all her torment to escape. The loss of her parents, the tedious years spent in imposed exile, her feelings for Alistair, her doubts and fears about the Blight. And of course there was Fiona's secret, lurking in the back of her mind ready to pounce into her speech. In an effort to remain silent, her stomach lurched violently. She had returned to that place of uncertainty and she hated herself for it. She knew that_ she_ made this situation complicated and Alistair had devised a perfectly workable solution. She cursed Fiona's secret. At the same time, she knew her desire to create a better world for the mages, came from the very pit of her being. This made her sob harder.

The light of the camp fire caught her eye as Alistair raised the door to her tent. Burying her head in her hood, he gingerly lifted it and stroked her hair. She turned around and wiped her eyes.

"Leave me alone," she said.

He sighed loudly and crawled out.

~0oOo0~

My feet dangle close to the edge. Where am I? The air is heavy and hangs with the stench of sulfur. I look below and then take a few steps back. A battalion of Darkspawn march below me, so many, too many to count. I spin around, looking for escape, but I am trapped. I hear the sound of their march, the clamor of their weapons and armor. I can't catch my breath. The sound of wings, great wings overwhelms me. Swells and waves of hot air gust over me. My face is burning, I cannot hide from it. It lands on its hindquarters on an adjacent ledge. It sets its forelegs down lightly, releasing something from its hold. There is no sound. Then, the crack of gas and flame snap me out of my fear. A column of fire explodes toward the cave floor. It watches me, I can feel it, but it is too dreadful to look upon. It calls out. It sings unfamiliar, haunting songs. I fall to my knees and cover my ears, squeeze my eyes shut. But I still see the unspeakable malevolence in my mind.

I feel its wings disturb the air again. It's on the ledge with me. I hear scales grind against massive muscle followed by a relentless sniffing. Heaves and grunts trapped deep inside its throat escape against my cheek. A voice, I hear a voice. _Release me! Release me!_ Finally, I slowly, cautiously, open one eye, ready to slam it shut. I see something in its claws. A blonde shock of hair, his armor, Arl Eamon's shield. It pulls on his back, tearing flesh and sinew. A song echoes in my mind again. _Release me! Release me!_ Flesh and gore dribble between its teeth. I see a tongue, coated in barbs, like a thousand stinging hornets, flicker and lap. I shut my eyes; my fear stifles my attempt to scream.

~0oOo0~

"It's okay. It's the taint. Shhhhh…" She was being cradled and rocked. Her eyes burned and she wiped her damp cheek on his shoulder.

From a distance she could hear Wynne. "Is everything okay in there?"

"Yes, she's had another nightmare. Go back to sleep, I have it under control." Alistair continued to rock and massage her back. Her mind rentered the tent, although the terror had not yet drifted away.

He whispered, "It was just a dream," and kissed the top of her head.

She sat up straight and rubbed her eyes and put her arms around her in a gesture to keep herself together.

"They're getting worse, aren't they?"

She couldn't answer. He lay her down on her bedroll, despite her resistance. She realized there were hours yet before dawn and struggled upright.

"Let me take the watch…there will be no more sleep for me tonight."

"Zevran has everything under control. Rest." He lied down, and pulled her close. In his arms, she believed this may be bearable. She could at least focus on his breath if all else failed. For this was all that she had. When awake she was plagued with another nightmare. This place between dreaming and awakening was her only haven.

* * *

_Of course, Bioware owns all. Thanks so much to Kira Tamarion for her superbeta powers and swooping in and saving my writing from the evils of bad grammar and my deviations from canon. In this case, swooping is good :) And DoorbellSpider, your last review was so intense! I know I haven't given your suggestions the justice they deserve...just don't think I am ignoring them ;) The title is a tip of the hat to my favorite anthropologist. Any anthropologists in the house? Feels a little lonely in here :)_


	8. Chapter 8: Galdorbryne

The road to Orzammar was grim and demanding and even the weather refused to cooperate. From the Brecilian Forest, they hiked west and established base camp near Redcliffe again. It offered a small degree of safety as the Redcliffe guard also provided extra security in the event of a Darkspawn attack. She and Alistair decided to speak formally with Arl Eamon once they returned from Orzammar. There was no point in stirring the political pot until absolutely necessary. Nuraya was glad that she could postpone those worries for a time.

"I'm heading to the tavern in Redcliffe. Who wants to come?" Nuraya gathered her pack and staff and brushed off the dirt from the back of her robe. She was tired of sitting by the fire.

On the night before they would divide their company, Nuraya decided to spend her last few hours sheltered in the tavern. The autumn rains were relentless. Although the clouds had parted, the creeping damp snuck under everyone's armour and robes. Everything she owned was damp, and there was never time or sunlight to allow it to dry. It was early evening and Zev and Leliana had managed to catch a stag while hunting. Their full bellies would certainly make the last leg of the journey a little more bearable. The rest of the camp was a hive of activity. Ambassadors from the Circle and the Dalish also joined the camp along with Sandal and Bodhan. She was looking forward to travelling with a smaller party as the pressures of providing sustenance for their crew often felt like a distraction at times.

"I am never one to turn down a dirty tavern and a good stout." Zevran said. Morrigan, Leliana and Alistair also agreed to join her. Sten opted to prepare for battle and Wynne claimed exhaustion.

"So who will be going with you to Orzammar?" Leliana caught up with the group heading toward the road to Redcliffe.

"I've decided that it will be Zev, Morrigan and Alistair."

She caught Zev and Leliana share a disappointed glance at each other.

"I can hardly contain my excitement. Just think Alistair, we will travel to the bowels of the earth together. Sounds rather apropos wouldn't you say?" Morrigan sighed.

The ongoing antagonism between Morrigan and Alistair always factored in to her decisions. This time she would just have to endure their cattiness and hoped it would not drive her to the brink of madness. On the way to Redcliffe from camp, they crossed the bridge that spanned a mountain river and emptied into Lake Calenhad. To her right, the rushing water leaped from the red ochre boulders that gave Redcliffe its name.

"Leliana, the camp will need security and of course you'll hunt when supplies dwindle. I am sure you will be able to endure Sten and Wynne's company."

"No troubles, Nuraya."

"Don't be afraid to call upon Redcliffe if any assistance is required."

The soft glow of the tavern windows came into view and she heard the muffled hum of merriment and the clamor of empty steins from inside. Village life, Nuraya guessed, had returned to normal and off-duty guards and townsfolk had come to seek relief from village monotony. As they entered, all eyes turned to them and excitement erupted from the patrons. Men and women gathered around to express their thanks with cheers and pats on the back. They found a table in a dark corner and ordered a round from Lloyd the barkeep. Morrigan opted to stay near the bar. It was just as well. At least Nuraya would not feel obligated to ease any tensions between her and Alistair.

Nuraya downed her first pint and tried not to dwell on the recent darkness that had settled over her and Alistair. Their situation now became increasingly tangled. She was grateful that Leliana and Zev kept the mood light and shared some jokes. Zevran's were always obscene and caused Leliana to blush, thus causing Nuraya to laugh harder.

Last week, Zevran managed to sneak behind her while she sat in front of the fire. He took Alistair's arm and put it around her, saying "Please Wardens, no need to pretend otherwise amongst friends." Alistair seemed less mortified and pulled her close. It would have been easier for her to settle in had the Antivan bit his tongue and not said "besides, I quite like to imagine the both of you together in more…private circumstances." That was how their relationship took a step into the public sphere. Nuraya resented not being in control of that moment, but had to admit she had squandered every opportunity to do so on her own. That secret was officially out, although she could tell that no one was particularly surprised. Their argument in the forest glade on the outskirts of the Brecilian was quickly ignored. Nuraya feared they were both steeped in denial and she chose to remain that way for the time being.

Oil lamps chased away shadows and laughter bounced from the many occupied tables. Alistair's arm rest on the back of her chair and she leaned into his shoulder. Their relationship was no longer a mystery at camp, but it remained so to her. The topic of accession to the Fereldan throne remained an open wound that they chose to avoid for the time being. Even at the tavern the issue felt like a sliver under her fingernail. Over the next hour, the company helped distract her troubles and shared tales from the road. On top of her personal worries, there was always a lingering fear that they would return with smaller numbers. Nuraya wondered how long her luck would hold out.

"Remember the first time Sten was attacked by a sylvan?" Leliana giggled, "I'll never forget that look on his face!" Leliana exaggerated it to those at the table and bulged her eyes, attempting to appear very stern. "And then when Nuraya released him from its tangled branches, he turned and said. _Trees are not weapons! Drop your trunks_!" Everyone erupted in laughter.

Nuraya noticed Morrigan standing at the bar, flirting with a Redcliffe guard. Morrigan caught her glance and beckoned her over. Excusing herself from the table, Nuraya offered Alistair a quick kiss on the forehead as she left.

"Good evening Warden," Morrigan beamed at the handsome guard, "let me introduce you to Fenton." He bowed his head respectively.

"What news from Redcliffe ser?" Nuraya asked.

"The hills have been relatively clear of trouble save the odd band of marauding thieves," Fenton reported.

"Any troubles in the village?" Nuraya hoped that with Connor exorcised and the Arl in better health the village resumed its tedious chores and prattling gossip.

"The Chantry is close to overflowing with refugees from Lothering. I hope they soon find a place to settle, before they grow restless."

"Now, now, 'tis not the time for work." Morrigan turned to Fenton and traced a finger down his chest. "If you can excuse me for a couple of minutes, I need to discuss something with the Warden. I shall join you in a moment."

Nuraya raised an eyebrow at Morrigan as Fenton rejoined his party by the hearth. He leaned on the mantle and winked.

"A girl has needs on the eve of a ghastly trek up the Frostback."

"Indeed."

"You should attend to some of your needs. Your tent has been rather quiet these past few weeks. Had a chance to experiment with that bit of salve? Need a refill? Better speak now as my supplies will dwindle."

Nuraya had no intentions of discussing her personal life at this moment as she was in no mood to spoil her evening.

Morrigan lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "I have read though the grimoire. There is some information that I wish to share."

"Is that so?" Nuraya was never sure if she would reap any benefits from it.

"It appears this is not my mother's actual grimoire."

"That's disappointing. Is it a forgery?" Nuraya settled on a barstool and ordered ale from Lloyd. She gripped the wooden stein and thought back to Irving's concerns and secrecy about the tome when he offered it to her.

"No, it is very much her work. It describes how she achieves long life."

Morrigan's face went dark and sad. Leaning against the bar, she finished her drink in one swallow and explained to Nuraya that Flemeth raised a daughter in order to possess her young body when the witch had reached old age. This was the first time that Nuraya realized any hint of worry or concern on Morrigan's face. Everything else they encountered seemed to ricochet off her tough exterior. Morrigan's demeanor changed to hatred.

"I refuse to be Flemeth's empty sack."

"Does the grimoire offer you way to avoid this?"

"She must be killed. I would do it myself, but if I am there, she will use the magic to occupy me. I cannot be present at the moment of her death."

"Kill Flemeth? You want _me_ to kill Flemeth? That won't be easy."

"I did not say 'twould be easy. I do not say this often, but I need your help. I am not some sort of vessel that needs filling. Who does not wish for freedom?"

Nuraya stopped and stared. Morrigan was clever indeed and she recognized which sympathy string she pulled. "Kill Flemeth…" She mulled the task over in her mind. It was almost as daunting as killing the Archdemon.

"So what say you?"

"Me? I cannot go alone. I'll have to convince the others to come. I might be able to persuade Sten, and I think Alistair would be willing… and then…" She turned over the remaining choices in her head.

"Take the Antivan."

"I agree. Even if I decide to do this and convince the others to help, I won't even think of doing it until after we secure the support of the Dwarves."

"Understandable."

"And if I should succeed? Then you leave?"

"Not until your business with the Archdemon is settled and then I shall be on my way. You have my word."

Nuraya thought a few minutes more. "And what would stop Flemeth from possessing my body?"

Morrigan laughed uncontrollably out loud. When she calmed herself, she said, "I don't think so, my dear. I don't think Circle knowledge is what Flemeth was hoping for."

As much as Nuraya wanted to feel offended, she was somewhat relieved. Even though the task was a significant distraction from the Blight, she decided to take this opportunity and use it to her advantage. A Warden mage ridding Ferelden of the infamous Witch of the Wilds would no doubt curry favor with the Chantry and nobility. If she could involve Alistair in the task, all the better.

"So you will consider this?" Morrigan asked, impatiently.

"Sounds like an adventure. I'll work on the others. Let me do the talking and let this be _my _idea."

"I shall step back in my shadow, Warden." Morrigan grinned slyly. Clearly she was pleased with the outcome of this discussion. "And now dearest Warden, I am about to discover what lies beneath Ser Fenton's armour. I strongly suggest that you endeavour to do the same…" And Morrigan ambled off toward Fenton seductively.

Nuraya returned to their table to find Alistair sitting by himself.

"Out plotting with Morrigan again?" He pulled out a chair for her and she set her stein in front of her. She drummed her nails on the wooden table, wondering whether she should propose this new plan to Alistair. Quickly she decided not to give Alistair much time to consider the task. After all, they expected to be under the mountain for a least a month.

"Oh yes, we're working out how we'll turn all of Orzammar into toads. Where are Leli and Zev?"

Alistair looked toward a set of stairs.

"Ah."

"Want to head back to camp? I am not sure I will be able to stomach hearing Morrigan's howls all night."

Nuraya chugged her ale and slammed the empty vessel on the wooden table. She spoke to Lloyd to pass a message to her companions that she would meet them there in the morning.

Together, she and Alistair walked back to base-camp arm-in-arm. Alistair had not been to Orzammar either and they shared what tales they had heard.

"I heard the structures they have carved inside the mountain would put any castle in Thedas to shame." Alistair said. "So what did the Circle teach you of the Dwarves?"

"Not much, other than they provide the templars with lyrium. Oh, and that their race is blessed to not have magic. Every once in a while a trader would visit Irving. They spoke mostly behind closed doors, never heard much gossip either. We are told that they are somewhat primitive and have not advanced in knowledge in the same way as those in the surface. I'm not sure how much of that I believe. In the eyes of the Chantry, the other races of Thedas have yet to progress and embrace the teachings of Andraste."

"I once knew a dwarven Warden. Maker why can't I remember his name…Kodran maybe? Said he would shave his beard every time he got knocked out by a hurlock. Used to trip on the bloody thing. He would tie it up in a braid, as long as yours, throw it over his shoulder and run into battle with madness in his eyes. Oh and of course drink. Loved his ale."

Camp was quiet when they returned. Sten had resumed his familiar rounds. Nuraya kissed Alistair in front of her tent.

"I want to sort through my pack and make sure I have everything I need."

Alistair scratched his head and smiled.

"I'm glad that I'll be going. I don't think I could spend another month without you."

She smiled and said, "I thought I would give Lel and Zev a turn."

"So what were you and Morrigan discussing anyway?"

"Girl talk is all."

She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a lasting kiss. "I'll see you bright and early. Now go get some sleep before your watch. I'm on after you." She crawled in her tent and sat on her bedroll and organized her pack again. Morrigan's special jar rolled into her lap. Nuraya laughed to herself and tossed it back in, wondering where in Orzammar they might get a chance to experiment with it. She replenished her supplies of fresh herbs, poisons and lyrium and packed her rose. Although she was not a firm believer in charms, she always carried it. With Fiona's request still nagging her and Alistair continuing to dig in his heels, the dried flower reminded her that her connection to him stood for something more than politics. A shadow approached her tent and Alistair poked his head inside, grinning mischievously.

"Come!" he said and held out his hand. Perplexed, she took it and they walked through the camp toward a nearby brook and a small grove they had discovered when they wanted their privacy.

"I have something for you. I've been meaning to give it to you for a while. Now close your eyes." He stood behind her, covered her eyes and urged her forward. She tentatively stepped onward.

"Flaming Andraste, I'm blind as a deepstalker!"

"Just a few more steps…a few more…okay, open your eyes."

A sword stood against a tree with a leather breastplate.

"What is this?" She picked up the sword and studied it. She felt energy vibrate from her hand up her arm.

"I found it in the ruined temple when searching for the Ashes. Wynne tells me it was forged for a mage and only a mage can wield it. I can't so much as touch it. Gives me nasty shocks and flies out of my hand. Wynne had to bring it out here for me. Anyway, I still remember that little conversation that we had in the Circle library. I couldn't very well let _Morrigan_ take it…"

The weapon was exquisite. She pulled it from the scabbard, delighting in the swish of the metal as she beheld it, turning it carefully in her hands. Examining the details, she admired the pommel and recognized the head of Toth cast in silverite, with rubies set in its lidded eyes and tiny dragonbone teeth meticulously fixed in its snarling mouth. Woven on the grip were layers of dragon hide that fused with a great winged cross-guard. Scrolling the entire length of the fuller she noted black-etched runes. Lightly tracing the edge, she could tell that it would not require sharpening, and not a knick or a scratch spoiled the polished surface.

"Alistair, It's beautiful."

"Well, you cannot play with swords without armor." He handed her the drake scale breastplate. "While you were with the Dalish, I slipped away from camp for a few days and made my way to Master Wade's in Denerim. I used the scales we recovered from Kolgrim's little pet. Hope you did not have other plans for it. Now try it on."

Blinking in disbelief, she dropped her robe. She wore a dark cotton tunic and black leather breeches beneath, sometimes for warmth, but mostly for practicality. Holding her arms out, Alistair slipped the breastplate through her arms and turned her around to fasten the buckles. Looking down, the extraordinary craftsmanship rendered her speechless. Form fitting, the impenetrable leather was edged with silverite knot-work flourishes, which accentuated the Grey Warden emblem emblazoned on the front. Alistair stepped away and she put her robe back on and twirled around, brandishing the sword. She conjured a spell and the sword ignited in a garland of flame, causing Alistair to back away tentatively.

"Now now, let's not get carried away. Especially since you haven't had your first lesson…"

She swung the sword, feeling the weight loosen her wrist. Trails of smoke curled before her eyes. She cancelled the spell and the sword went dark. Gripped in her right hand, she let the blade rest in her left to admire it further.

"I think I shall call this sword Galdorbryne."

"Naming your weapon are you? A bit arrogant don't you think?"

"I was thinking of that blade I found of Sten's—Asala. There is something, I don't know, _fascinating_ about having a sword that isn't just a tool, but a part of you" her excitement quickened her voice. "Someday someone will see me draw my blade and cower in fear and say…it's that mage with Galdorbryne! In the meantime it will distract the enemy from the fact that I don't know how to wield it properly."

"Well that is where I come in!" Alistair jogged over to the fallen tree and pulled out two practice swords.

"Now put away Galdorbryne before anyone else gets hurt, and we will start lesson one: grip and stance."

Nuraya secured the scabbard over her hips and stood beside Alistair with the common blade and attended to her lesson. She learned her footing and posture, how to grip and swing, how to parry and attack. Before long they were sparing. The clang of the metal echoed through the clearing and was punctuated with Nuraya's curses when she left herself open or lost her grip. He was a patient teacher and explained the techniques as many times as she needed.

She was beginning to get the hang of sparing. At least the sword did not fly out of her hand when Alistair put his weight behind his swing.

Sten pounced through the brush, barreling forward, holding aloft his two-handed greatsword. Nuraya and Alistair stopped in mid-practice and stared. Sten slowed to a walk and perused the clearing.

With a raised eyebrow he whispered, "I heard a skirmish. I came to assist."

Alistair grinned. "Haven't you heard? This is our new battle mage's first day of sword training."

Nuraya grinned and held up her sword weakly.

"Mages are not warriors," Sten stated.

Nuraya rolled her eyes, preparing herself for another circular debate.

"According to the Qun, but in Ferelden, anything goes."

"Training is best accomplished during the daylight hours. I will assist when required. Warden Alistair, you have the next watch."

"Give me your best shot Sten," Nuraya grinned. She unsheathed Galdorbryne and took her position.

"Battle is not a game, Kadan."

"What? The Qunari don't practice?"

"We must be prepared the fight to the death at every encounter. If I engage you in battle, you will be dead."

"Okay, let this be my first test."

"Nuraya, this is insane…" Alistair interrupted.

"If I cannot handle a measly Qunari, then I should give up on this whole Blight business right now. I think there is something to be said about the ways of the Qun." She assumed her stance, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She cooked up a naughty plan and hoped that she would not be disemboweled in the process.

Alistair continued to protest loudly. With a wave of her sword, she sent Sten back ten paces.

"Okay, when Alistair says go, give me all you've got Sten."

"I will not be a participant in this! It's ridiculous, Nuraya!" Alistair protested.

Nuraya took her ten paces and tried to appear prepared. She conjured flame and Galdorbryne ignited in a cracking plume. Sten eyed her menacingly and she was impressed how seriously he took her challenge. They continued their stare-down.

"Shall we stand here all night Warden?" Sten growled to Alistair.

"Flaming Andraste. Fine. Commence!" Alistair called out, giving up on trying to reason with Nuraya's temporary madness.

Sten barreled toward her, sword aloft. She held a defensive position and conjured mind-blast. It seemed natural to hold the flat of the blade to her forehead. The combination increased the potency of the spell. Sten flew backward and landed on the ground. She ran toward the Qunari and kicked his sword out of reach and then held the tip of her blade at his neck. Flame licked his skin but he did not flinch. She cancelled the spell and held out her hand to help him up. He refused and jumped to his feet.

"Sten, you're lucky that training in Fereldan does not need to end in death. And lesson number one to you warriors: Never underestimate a battle mage. We have many tricks up our sleeve."

Sten stood, crossed his arms at his chest and bowed.

"I look forward to battling with you in the future, Warden. Your talents are…impressive, although inappropriate for a mage." He picked up his sword left the clearing.

Alistair ran up to her, picked her up and kissed her.

"You never cease to amaze me, my love."

They snickered and gathered up their belongings, but not before they fervently embraced. Hand in hand, they strolled toward camp.

She climbed into her tent and settled herself in. She peeked outside and whispered out to Alistair.

"I expect I will have a nightmare tonight, why don't you join me after watch?"

"You're going to have a nightmare, you say?" He raised an eyebrow at her wryly. "I suggest you snuggle with that sword of yours."

She tossed a pebble at him. Dodging the projectile, he winked and began his patrol. Inside the tent, the damp and cold settled into her bones and she wrapped her robe and blanket around herself tightly.

* * *

_Bioware owns all, except Nuraya's soul! My boundless gratitude goes out to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider for their amazing Beta duties. Oh, Kira, I thought long and hard about Galdorbyrne...and if Aragorn can carry Andúril and Gandalf can carry Glamdring to their sides, so shall Nuraya. :) A little inspiration from Pete J. To the void with practicality! Thanks to everyone who has added In Her Mind's Eye to their favorites and alerts. You interest is much appreciated!_


	9. Chapter 9: Dust

She slouched in a stone chair in Tapster's Tavern and remarked how she punctuated her accomplishments with visits to a tavern. With an elbow propped on the table, she held up her chin and stopped hiding her bad mood. The chair was uncomfortable and the ale was warm. She was tired. She was tired of killing Darkspawn, she was tired of solving Ferelden's problems, and she was tired of rock, and stone, and dust. She was tired of being dirty. She was tired of the suffocating heat. She was tired of being tired.

"Thunderhumpers…" The Dwarf growled while using the back of his hand to wipe foam from his beard. "This party sodding bites nug balls! More ale bar wench!"

The one thing Nuraya did not anticipate about the Dwarves of Orzammar was their capacity to drink. Two weeks ago, she decided it was unnecessary to invite Oghren to permanently join her company, but he insisted on guiding them through the Deep Roads. It was later that Alistair and Zev convinced her to allow him to accompany them to the surface. Originally, she thought Oghren would serve them well by offering some useful advice and perhaps a map. But recruit him to the cause? This she didn't think he was necessary. He was loud, rude and he smelled of stale draught by day and fresh ale by night. Reluctantly, she asked Morrigan to return to basecamp, wondering if this somehow was part of a scheme Alistair cooked up to send her away. She would have preferred to keep Morrigan along, if only to have another girl around, but they only had enough supplies to sustain a party of four in the Deep Roads. For fourteen entire days she was forced travel with three stinking, sweaty men. Tonight she was in no mood to contribute to the current conversation about the bar maid's chest. Not even Alistair's winks or his wandering hands distracted her from her foul mood.

She pushed her ale aside and excused herself from the table.

"Can't hold your liquor Magey? Lemme show ya how the real fighters celebrate victory! By the stone I don't know how you managed to nugger that sodding titted beast!"

"Titted beast?" she asked incredulously and bristled at her new pet name.

He laughed. "Yeah, _the broodmother_. Could barely focus on my axe, kept staring at her…chests…" he pounded the table and sniggered.

"I have to admit that the thought of eight breasts on a woman might make for an exotic evening. But in this case, I prefer mothers that are more… plain… Of course, I have nothing against the unusual…"

"I think that was more woman than you could handle, Zevran." Alistair now entered the chatter.

"Oh, don't be so sure my friend."

Oghren pointed at Zevran and slammed the table with his fist and laughed hysterically. Nuraya was completely repulsed at the thought of this disgusting creature and their comments. She could still feel the Broodmother's writhing tendrils slither around her neck, squeezing so hard that she gasped for air. She learned that this thing was once a Dwarven woman, so corrupted with the taint, and forever lost to the Deep Roads, only to be kept alive to continually birth genlocks. Nuraya could not understand how they could make light of that situation.

Oghren slurred and held up his mug to toast the others. "To titted beasts!"

No matter her approach, whether it was with sincerity or rudeness, he was incapable of showing her any respect. She wondered if he resented her for killing Branka and destroying the Anvil of the Void. Then again, she doubted that he remained sober long enough to remember those events.

"I'm going in search of some fresh air," she scowled. Oghren let out a very wet, loud and garish belch.

"There is your air freshener, Magey," he bellowed, thumping his fist on the table causing the mugs to rattle. Zev and Alistair held them steady. Alistair tried to convince her to stay a while, but she insisted that she would stay near Tapsters. She weaved her way through the patrons careful not to elbow anyone in the head. It was taking her some time to adjust to their size. Even though the Dwarves were stout and durable, she thought it rude to elbow a stranger in the eye.

Out of the confines of the tavern, the air was still heavy and still. She strolled down the avenue and sat near a lava fall. At first, the free flowing magma filled her with awe. Always having a deep connection to fire, she was drawn to it, wanted to reach in her hand and allow it to flow over her. Regardless of her fascination, sitting near the searing heat did not help her improve her mood. She did not anticipate her intense dislike of this place and felt the crafted cavern walls starting to close in around her. She was glad that everything the Circle taught her was completely wrong. Orzammar had a rich and complex history, untarnished with direct influence from the Chantry. Part of her felt sad that so many had been lost to the Darkspawn. She suspected that her bad mood had little to do with Orzammar and more to do with nearing the end of her quest.

A young girl nervously approached and gained her attention.

"Dagna! Good to see you again!"

"Am I disturbing you Warden Amell?"

"Not at all, come sit. I could use a real conversation."

"Really!" The Dwarven girl perked up and excitedly took a seat beside her, asking "where are your other companions? A surface woman is not safe in these areas. I know you took care of the Carta in Dust Town, but surfacers are always a target here under the mountain. I hear that you convinced the Assembly to accept Bhelen's claim to the throne. Harrowmont's supporters are not going to be happy about that."

Nuraya motioned toward the tavern. "I'll call in the troops if there's trouble."

"So, when are you heading back to the surface?"

"Tomorrow and no worries, I will talk to Irving for you."

"Please, don't think I came over to pressure you, Warden. I can't believe you actually _lived_ there." The Dwarf was still in awe of the Circle.

"Call me Nuraya, please. As far as the Circle is concerned, I hated it. I'd rather be here." She was not entirely truthful, but she was making a point.

"But you were the great Irving's _apprentice_. I can't imagine leaving."

"He's an excellent mage and a good teacher, this is true. I hope you get a chance to study with him. I'm fortunate to have been recruited by the Grey Wardens. The Circle is nothing more than a prison."

"You were locked in a cell in nothing but your small clothes?"

"Well no. I was free to wander the Tower at will, but I was never permitted off the island. My first sight of Ferelden was on the way to Ostagar with the Warden who recruited me. The templars are pretty horrible to mages. Dwarves are lucky not to pass magic on to their children."

"Instead we have our own prisons. The whole caste business is a bit like that. Once in the smith caste, always in the smith caste."

"I know, but you'll never have to worry about a templar showing up and stealing your children."

Dagna wiggled herself closer and whispered, "but I bet you know the octagonal prism to conjure inferno."

Nuraya conjured a small flame in the palm of her hand and held it in front of the wide-eyed Dwarf.

"Primal geometry is a topic that only scholars care about. You will absolutely revel in the library there."

"Don't get me started! Were you taught about the properties of lyrium?"

"Properties? No. It's just a necessary ingredient. Mages tend to focus on the geometry, runes and keys. Oh, and not getting made tranquil by the templars."

"By the stone! You don't study this at the Circle? Amazing! Lyrium is an incredible substance really. Dwarves have been working with it ever since…well, ever since the beginning. Lyrium _vibrates_. When heated, it vibrates at a faster rate than when frozen. I have been dying to find out how to combine these properties with arcane geometry."

"I am sure the senior enchanters will be very interested in your work, Dagna."

In the back of her mind, she hoped that this discovery could somehow benefit the mages. What if they could provide templars with lyrium that made them more docile? What if they could hold this knowledge over the Chantry and negotiate their freedom? Perhaps these changes needed to come in small steps. She still needed to work on Alistair. He was still stubbornly insistent on staying with Grey Wardens.

Dagna elbowed her. "Oh, oh…look who's coming. By the Ancestors I wish someone would send him with the Legion."

Nuraya looked up the road and saw Brother Burkel. He had approached her a few weeks ago and asked if she would speak to the Shaper about opening a Chantry in Orzammar.

"Maker's blessings ladies! Such a fine evening!" he said.

"And a good evening to you!" Nuraya answered politely.

"I was just wondering if you had a chance to speak with the Shaper about opening a Chantry."

Dagna looked at Nuraya, trying to hide a smirk.

"I'm afraid I won't be speaking to the Shaper about this, Brother Burkel. I'm sorry." She hoped he was not a distant relative of Harrowmont.

Brother Burkel's cheerful expression fell. "Can I ask why? The Chant of Light should be heard amongst all free citizens of Thedas! I am sure the Shaper will hear a request from the Grey Wardens."

"Well, that's the thing, I don't support the Chantry. They have a policy towards mages that I find…unacceptable. The last thing the Dwarves of Orzammar need is the Chantry meddling in their affairs."

"_Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, Should they set themselves against me…" _Brother Burkel looked to the vaulted roof and drew a deep breath to continue, but Dagna interrupted.

"Perhaps you should listen to the Warden, Burkel. She lives on the surface and better understands the Chantry."

"What could there be to understand? Blessed Andraste loved all her people. Every Dwarf should have the chance to take the Maker into their hearts."

"Let me assure you, it's very complicated. One thing I would be worried about is the Chantry sticking their nose in the lyrium trade. Templar's need the stuff to control the mages. All it takes is one Chantry…and then next thing you know…they start changing laws, influencing your kings…"

A door slammed and she heard the flatulence from a certain red-haired Dwarf.

"…and then I swung me axe and pow! Right in the balls…" Alistair and Zevran hung on his every word, laughing heartily.

Nuraya pardoned herself from Dagna and Burkel, and rolled her eyes at Oghren.

"You will have to pardon me. Glad we had a chance to chat, Dagna. I'll speak to the Circle as soon as I can. And Burkel, good luck with your work. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone to speak to the Shaper on your behalf."

"You're doing everyone a favor in Orzammar by taking him with you," smiled Dagna as she watched Oghren stagger down the steps.

"Your fortune is my punishment. Maker, did I really offend the Dwarves that much?" she muttered.

"Makers blessings upon each of you!" Burkel waved and headed down the avenue.

Oghren slapped Nuraya on the back when he approached. "Hey Magey! How's she hanging? Off trying to find yerself a girlfriend? Didn't realize you magic types liked to play both teams. Heh heh heh…"

Nuraya bit her tongue. Alistair quickly stepped beside her to shield Oghren from any incoming flames.

"We've been invited to stay at Bhelen's until we depart. Thought it might be a step up from a dusty cave," Alistair said, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Nuraya's face flushed and burned in anger. How was she to focus on her remaining tasks when all she wanted to do was set Oghren on fire? Perhaps this is how Alistair felt about Morrigan. As they walked toward the Diamond Quarter, Zevran strode beside her.

"It has been an interesting excursion, my dear Warden. I am much obliged to have the opportunity to partake in this adventure." Zevran may have a lecherous side, but at least he was polite. Nuraya had kept an eye on him throughout their time in Orzammar. She did not think that Dwarven women would be too exotic for his tastes, and decided to report any misgivings to Leliana. She was pleased that she witnessed nothing that required such a report.

"It certainly has, it certainly has." She didn't mean to sound cynical.

"Might I inquire as to why you've decided to support the young Prince Bhelen? He wasn't as popular with the nobility as Harrowmont. I found your choice rather…uh, how should I say…fascinating. Please don't interpret my questions as mistrust my, dear Warden…"

"In Ferelden, Zevran, we honor the royal line. Bhelen was the rightful heir to the throne. Siding with Harrowmont would only create further uncertainty and instability within Orzammar."

"And just how does Magey know what's good for Orzammar, eh?" Oghren interrupted.

"All beings of this earth are alike, Dwarf. If an opportunity to question the authority of the throne exists, someone will seize that chance, and more often than not, will do far more than ask questions. Bhelen may not be a popular choice, but his pedigree alone will offer more stability than the sword or the golden tongue of a politician."

Alistair remained silent on this matter.

"Sodding politicians. I thought mages kept their glowy fingers out of that nasty bit of business."

"So I am politician now, am I? I'm not sure what insult is worse: Politician or Magey."

"I think our lovely Warden has a point. The Crows have long understood that it's more difficult to corrupt a legitimate heir. We only need to look at my last employer as an example."

"Ugh. Loghain. He's next on our list." Whether Alistair was trying to change the subject with this comment, Nuraya could not be certain. Oghren pounded his fist in his hand.

"Who is this Loghain character and when can I introduce him to the sharp side of my axe?"

When they entered the Diamond Quarter, a group of dwarves slid from the shadows and obstructed their path. Nuraya could tell from their mail that they were loyal to Harrowmont. The vestiges of dissent remained, and would so, until Bhelen's coronation. She was quickly losing patience and had no interest in negotiation. She conjured a fireball and directed it at the leader's groin. He flew backward, clutching his manhood and twisted in agony. Oghren jumped into position and raised his axe far over his head and let it fall into the leader's neck. Zevran and Alistair were swarmed with Harrowmont's goons, and Nuraya quickly backed herself against a wall and blasted each with ice. Noticing a solitary woman, a particularly astute rogue slunk toward her, twirling razor sharp switchblades in each hand.

"Want a piece of Mordek, little lady? Come see your Mordek. Maybe I'll have a bit of fun with ye afore I take that pretty braid of yours to the wigmaker."

Compared to the Broodmother, Mordek was mildly amusing. Quickly assessing that her companions could easily be left without her assistance, she cast flaming weapons as a favor.

"Come play with Mordek." He sneered and thrust his blade toward her arm. Dodging his attack, she unsheathed Galdorbryne. With a whoosh of flame, she parried his second strike and sent one of his blades clanging onto the stone. She brought her blade down to strike him in the center of his skull, but he evaded her attack. She knew he would need to be outwitted and out maneuvered.

"Didn't your mama tell you not to play with sharp things?"

She was beginning to tire of the sexist insults. She swung again and slashed open the arm holding his remaining knife, but his grip tightened. She threw ice, which he easily shrugged off, and noticed him seethe in fury. Apparently, she would not be an easy kill either.

Nuraya brandished her sword in sweeping arcs, making frequent contact with his knife. She did not have the power to force the weapon from his hand. Surefooted and agile, she orbited Mordek, searching for her mark. He was quick and his thrusts strong. With two backhanded contacts to his blade, she saw her moment. About to counterstrike, he drew his blade to his chest, coiling and about to use his momentum to extend his blade into her neck. In that brief pause she paralyzed his arm. She wanted him fully aware of her advantage. His hand drooped like a dead fish and the knife scattered on the road as he watched her. Raising his good arm, she heard a click. A shiv extended from his sleeve and pierced her sword arm. Galdorbryne's halo of flame extinguished as it tumbled to the ground. As she acknowledged her pain, she conjured flame, forcing Mordek to retreat. Back flipping, he pulled his reserve blades from their sheathes and twirled them between his fingers. Lurching, almost flying toward her, he slashed and opened her cheek. She felt a trickle of warmth slide down her face.

Her reserves were tapped and sensing that she could manage one more spell, she cast ice at his feet. He danced ridiculously and fell to the ground. Quickly retrieving her sword, she stepped on his chest firmly and slashed the tendons on his wrists, glaring at him with a wry smile. His dark eyes expressed no fear. Grasping Galdorbryne with both hands, she prepared for her final blow until her concentration was interrupted. Oghren bellowed, raced to Mordek and landed his axe in his forehead. Mordek's eyes bulged and then rolled into his skull. The sound of steel splintering bone no longer bothered Nuraya. She stood back, annoyed, and returned her blade to its scabbard and stepped off the corpse.

"Thought you needed a little Oghren magic there, Magey."

"Thanks," she acknowledged blandly and used the back of her hand to wipe the blood from her cheek and tried to shake off the aching in her arm. Zevran was picking the corpses for any sellable items and wiped the gore from his weapon. He inspected each dagger carefully, turning each blade in his hand before returning them to their scabbards strapped to his back. Oghren twirled his axe, catching it in each hand and whistled.

"Where is Alistair?" she called.

She heard a muffled reply. Behind a great column, she found Alistair beneath a large dwarf. The tip of his sword protruded from his attacker's back. Nuraya kicked off the corpse and Alistair pulled his blade free.

"Looks like you got yourself into some close contact there, Warden." Alistair got up and recovered from his fight.

"I'll be fine. Let's get out of here."

~0oOo0~

Bhelen's servants quickly ushered the companions to their accommodations upon their arrival. Long stone corridors sloped deep into the mountain. They were carved and decorated with Dwarven art, depicting the famous Paragons and the Thaigs of old. There was little light to illuminate their way, save the wall sconces that lit the area in cold light with lyrium crystal. She supposed the Dwarves would find the sun too intense.

Few fires were lit and the air felt quite cool as they followed the servant through the winding halls. The low ceilings, although suitable for a dwarf, made the labyrinthine palace seem cramped. Nuraya wondered if Sten could walk through these halls without keeping the top of his head on constant vigil. The servant opened a stout door. Both Nuraya and Alistair ducked under the casing as they entered.

"Is there anything else you might require?" asked the servant.

"Nothing more, thank-you. We both appreciate Bhelen's hospitality and generosity." Alistair answered. Nuraya was glad that he did not request any food. She was not sure she would be able to stomach another roasted nug.

Lyrium in the hearth cast an eerie azure glow in their room. Nuraya immediately began to peel off her layers and flung her robe over a stone chaise, shaking out the fine granules of dust. She inspected it closely and became upset that dust was beginning to tarnish the silver flourishes. Alistair sat on the bed and unbuckled his boots, stomping out the dust with a sharp clank on the stone floor. When she was done fussing over her equipment, she walked over to him and stood to present him with her back. Like an old husband, he automatically unbuckled the breastplate, and then playfully slapped her rump. A fine layer of dust had settled on the surface of the armor and the grime worked its way into the crevices.

"Maker, this mattress is stuffed with sand," he remarked offhandedly.

"Nothing surprises me about this place anymore. What I would give for a babbling brook. What I would give for a rainstorm! All this sand and dust is a slow means of torture. No wonder Oghren is crusty." She dumped fine red grit from her boot. Her feet were raw and chaffed.

"Oghren's muscle will come in handy. You need to ease up on him."

"I'm beginning to wonder if most of his muscle is concentrated in his jaw."

"You have to get over that, underneath, he's all heart."

On the edge of the bed, she unwound her braid and tried to shake out the dust that irritated her scalp.

"Okay, I will. Only if you do the same with Morrigan."

"Ugh. Not the same! She's just plain evil."

"Then no deal."

Alistair grumbled and acquiesced. He was now down to his tunic and breeches. A small mist of dust danced in the air around the lyrium hearth. He paced about the room and stretched. Nuraya sat in a bit of a daze. She could not tell what time of the day it was. Everyone bid her a good evening, but she had to trust that they knew what they were talking about. She counted the days since she had seen the sun. How the Dwarves tracked the passing of the days she did not know. Did they sleep when it was a matter of convenience? Alistair hovered near her and touched her cheek where she had been cut then opened an injury kit. She pulled away.

"Don't waste that. I'll heal myself. I haven't gotten around to it yet. I thought I might go mad with all that gravel in my clothes." She continued to remove the sand from between her toes.

Alistair sat on the edge of the bed with the kit in his lap. "We have plenty. Let's fix you the old fashioned way. Seems that you prefer fighting old style."

"Guess I am not such a bad student after all." She thought of all the evenings that she and Alistair trained. Zevran even joined on occasion and taught her strategies employed by rogues. Her arms started to feel more solid and her grip had improved. There was something very rewarding about using a blade in battle. And she couldn't think of anything more thrilling than augmenting that skill with magic. She liked the contact and the effort involved. There was something about feeling the killing blow that she did not sense when casting spells. If all mages could feel death this way, perhaps they would not be so careless with blood magic.

Alistair lifted her chin and poked around the wound. She could tell a bruise was forming on her cheekbone, but was not particularly concerned. She would have proudly worn her injury, were it not for the miracle of injury kits. Alistair rubbed in some salve and mentioned that stiches would not be required. When completed, he kissed her passionately and she tried to ignore the grit they shared.

"Anything else that requires my attention?" he asked.

She grinned and pulled up her sleeve, enjoying the sensuality of the tease, and pointed to the puncture wound on her arm. He worked more salve into the area and caressed her pale skin with his grimy hands.

"We are nearing the end, love," he said climbing into bed and pulling her to him.

They had yet to make love. There were plenty of nights when her temptation to remove all her clothing a slip beside his smooth, soft skin was more than she could bear. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not touch him, to prevent her fingers from trailing up his thigh, toward his warm and firm centre. She wanted to caress his chest, and slide her palms to his stomach and under the edges of his smalls. He was also holding back as well and she decided it foolish to discuss the matter. If there was no future for them after the Blight, she did not want any memory of their union. Despite Morrigan's encouragement, she could bear this regret. She knew that memories of their lovemaking would haunt her forever.

She lay on her side and Alistair pulled her close to his chest. She bent her knee and he sandwiched it between his legs She was used to the sensation of his manhood making its attention known. Oftentimes, he would pull away. Tonight, he did not, and caressed her arms lightly with the tips of his fingers.

"We will have to meet up with Arl Eamon when we return," she muttered, growing weary.

"Yes, we have much to discuss." He spoke slowly; she could tell he was fading as well.

She wanted to pry for more information, as she knew he would want to discuss matters of the crown with his uncle. Not wanting to stir any tension, she closed her eyes and drifted off.

~0oOo0~

Once the guards opened the great doors of Orzammar, the winter air punched her in the chest. The sun blazed and forced her to blink and squint. For a good hour, her head pounded and eyes watered. Deeply inhaling the fresh mountain air, she could sense the weight of the mountain rise off her spirits. Running toward a snow bank, she plunged her hands deep inside and brought a handful to her face and rubbed vigorously. It nearly took her breath away, but together with the crisp air, she gained a momentum she had not felt in weeks. Her hands were red and began to throb in the cold. She packed the snow tightly in her hand and tossed a snowball at the back of Oghren's auburn head.

He swung around, axe in hand and growled a curse involving his mother and a bronto. Quickly, she formed another and this time hit him right between the eyes.

He stood, unresponsive.

"What's the matter Oghren? Afraid of falling to the sky?" she teased.

"Come closer so my fist can see you better, Magey."

"Oh come on, you can dish it out, but can't take it eh?"

She walked over to him and noticed his rapidly blinking, bloodshot eyes.

Weakly, he said, "I cannot see Warden. I'm sodding Darkspawn fodder. Blasted light."

Zevran reached in Oghren's pack, produced his helmet and put it on his head.

"Keep yourself in the dark, my friend. If we run into trouble I shall gladly give you direction."

"Sodding topsiders." he grumbled. His voice sounded distant in the helmet.

* * *

_So late in the game I've discovered how much I like writing about Oghren and Zev together. :D Bioware owns all, but I own Nuraya's soul. An abundance of thank-yous to Kira Tamarion for your timely efforts, my ragged grammar thanks you as well. And DoorbellSpider - I love your commentary, keep it coming and hope you are feeling better. And again, thank YOU for stopping by and checking out Nuraya's story. It's so thrilling so see so many countries. Stay tuned for Chapter 10: Flemeth!_


	10. Chapter 10: Flemeth

"Please, take no offense, Warden Amell. I would like to speak with Alistair privately," Arl Eamon requested.

Seated in his office, they had been discussing Fereldan political affairs for the past two hours. Nuraya bristled at the request and attempted to hide her annoyance. She was satisfied, however, that he listened carefully to her thoughts on Alistair's potential accession. The topic regarding her overarching plan to use the power of the throne to change the Chantry's position on the mages, she kept to herself. She had no inkling as to his attitude toward mages or of his relationship with the Chantry. Given that Connor had already been sent to the Tower, she half wondered if the Arl could be her greatest collaborator. At this moment, she did not trust his motives for meeting with Alistair privately, and could not help but suspect that she would be the topic of discussion.

Without saying a word, she closed the office door behind her and went in search for the rest of her companions.

"Warden Amell, I heard you had returned to the Castle." Nuraya wheeled around and saw Isolde.

"Well met, Arlessa."

"Please, come walk with me." Isolde caught the crook of Nuraya's arm with hers and headed to a portico facing the garden. Thick hoarfrost covered the naked branches and withered foliage. Despite that winter's cruel fingers tended these gardens, the glistening boughs foretold rebirth and new beginnings. Isolde took a seat on a stone bench and wrapped herself tightly within her woolen shawl.

"How I miss Orlais. Fereldan winters are so bitter," she sighed heavily.

They spoke at length. The Arlessa detailed the Arl's recovery and Nuraya recounted her recent escapades in the Brecilian forest and the Frostbacks.

"We now wait for the horde to surface," Nuraya concluded.

"And what of Denerim? I hear from my husband that Loghain still controls the army and his daughter continues to rule Ferelden."

"Indeed. This is our next task. Alistair and I seek to avenge Duncan and Calian's death. With help from Redcliffe, the Dalish and the Dwarves, we have a fighting chance against the Blight. Until the Archdemon arrives, we'll focus on the political mess in Denerim."

"Eamon whispers that Alistair resists. He worries."

Nuraya groaned and watched small wintering birds hop on the crusty snow as they scavenged for seeds.

"He does, Arlessa. I hope to convince him, but I have yet to discover a persuasive tactic."

As a last resort, she might have to tell Alistair about Fiona, though would have to be completely backed against a wall to utter any word about that. She was still looking for the right angle, still hopeful that there was a way to persuade him, without betraying Fiona's confidence.

"The nobles in Denerim mention that Loghain influences the Chantry for his cause. They say that Loghain insists the Grey Warden's treachery against Calian is also an act against the Chantry and the Maker himself." Isolde's voice quivered and she inhaled deeply. "Loghain knows that a mage is leading the Wardens. He claims that this is an act of defiance against the Chantry and ultimately to Ferelden."

Nuraya dropped her head.

Isolde put a hand on Nuraya's arm. "Warden, it's because of you that I see the good that mages bring into this world. You saved my Connor. I am sure that Loghain sent the templars to collect my son as soon as he heard what you did."

"And how is Connor?"

Isolde's concern turned to misery. Mustering what little strength she possessed, she inhaled deeply and swallowed against her brimming tears. "He's taking some time to adjust. His life in the Circle is much different than here, of course. I will not be granted a visit for at least a year, but we write as often as possible."

"He'll be treated well. Irving is a good man. He ensures that the templars keep their distance, especially from the children." Nuraya was not sure what else to say, she certainly did not wish to cause more concern for the Arlessa.

"Alistair _must_ claim the throne. We cannot allow it to remain in the clutches of Loghain or the Chantry," Isolde stated.

"I think we have done all that we can, Arlessa. The decision rests with Alistair."

Isolde rubbed her arms. "I think I have had enough cold Fereldan air for one day. I have business I must attend to. Please extend your stay here at the castle for as long as you require." She stood, respectfully bowed her head to Nuraya and took her leave.

The winter wind crept inside Nuraya's robes, but it didn't bother her. Memories of Orzammar's oppressive heat and stifling caverns were still fresh. She basked in the weak sunlight and enjoyed the chattering birds. Leaning against the wall, she began to weigh her looming choices. No matter what strategies she devised, she saw no satisfactory result for her and Alistair. Escaping to Weisshaupt was out of the question. With her phylactery still in templar possession, the last thing she needed were ravenous apostate hunters hot on her trail. Grey Warden or not, she did not trust them. And no matter how deeply she cared for Alistair, she could not bear to leave the Fereldan mages in Loghain's hands. She had no insight into her future if he succeeded in taking the throne. _Do I want to be queen? _She realized this was the first time she thought of this possibility in earnest. Lately, her focus was just getting him to Denerim and agreeing to depose Anora. Fiona was her remaining hope. To have any future with King Alistair, Fiona needed to appear at just the right time and the Chantry would have to go against everything they believed in. Maybe Alistair was right, and even as king he would not be able to solve this problem in one lifetime.

Feeling quite hopeless, she realized their time together was quickly slipping away and she decided to enjoy what remained. There would be more than enough time after the Blight to pull together her shattered heart, if she managed to survive.

"Isolde told me that I would find you here." Alistair wandered down the portico, eating an apple.

"Finished plotting with the Arl?" she pried and continued to hold out hope. Alistair joined her on the bench, stretched out and crossed his feet. He continued to crunch on the apple.

"I wouldn't call it plotting. It was more like coaxing with a dash of begging."

"Then you've made your decision to go to Weisshaupt after the Blight?"

"Given that I would be alone in exile, I told him I would take his advice under consideration."

Nuraya perked up, not expecting this response. "Are you going to pursue your birthright?"

He looked at her in earnest. "Before you get too excited and begin devising how to outsmart the Chantry, I told the Arl I would _think_ about it. He's concerned about us though and believes that it will lessen the chances for support amongst the nobility. I told him to mind his own business about that."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Eamon does have a point. And now that you mention needing support from the nobility, it seems that I've been brewing a plot of my own." Alistair was about to sink his teeth in the apple again, but raised an eyebrow instead.

"And what would that be?"

"I'm going to kill Flemeth."

Alistair coughed and expelled small chunks of fruit onto his lap.

"What! This isn't a plot, this is madness!"

Nuraya explained the nature of Morrigan's request and how it would help garner more favor with the nobles and perhaps even the Chantry.

"I don't like this at all. What if Morrigan is scheming against the Grey Wardens and sends us into a trap?"

"No, absolutely not. While you two bickered and butted heads, I took the opportunity to get to know her. She's the way she is for a reason. You and I… we come from tragic circumstances. So does she. If she was working to undermine our efforts, we wouldn't have come this far. Don't forget, she has risked her life on more than one occasion for the both of us,"

"Well count me out. I am not going to jeopardize everything we have accomplished, only to be lured into some blasted trap. Why would Flemeth risk sending Morrigan with us if she was that valuable?"

"Morrigan feels that the experience and knowledge she gains with us will benefit Flemeth."

Alistair grasped her hand and traced each of her knuckles with his thumb. "You've done so much, don't throw it all away. Not now. We're so close."

"In the end, I am not doing this for Morrigan. I do it for myself. I do it for us," Nuraya stood abruptly. "Well, as I gather you will be staying here at the castle. I'll see you when I get back."

Alistair threw the core into the garden causing a fury of flapping wings. Nuraya watched the birds scatter in the sky. She stormed back into the castle, not heeding Alistair's calls.

~0oOo0~

She burst through the doors of the main hall.

"I have business to attend to. Sten, Zevran…" She scanned the room and skipped over Leliana, for no other reason than her hatred toward the Chantry. Wynne was out of the question as well, she was too old and too insightful about her relationship with Alistair. While Nuraya knew this was rather shallow, she allowed her sudden anger to sway her better judgment. She spied the Dwarf. "…and Oghren will come with me. The rest of you can wait here for our return."

Nuraya briefed them and explained that Morrigan's life was in danger and she was going to solve the problem before it was too late. When she was done, the quiet hall rattled with activity. Questions continued to echo through the chamber along with the din of swords and equipment.

Sten crossed his arms and glared at Nuraya. "This is a distraction, it does not contribute to our flight against the Blight."

Alistair stood beside Sten and agreed. Nuraya knew this might happen.

"And if a fellow Qun was in danger, would you just let him die?"

"Such would be his fate."

"Wasn't it you that once said _an unbound mage is like a wildfire. As prone to consume itself as it is to devour all that surrounds it. _Let's go bind one mage that has the potential burn a considerable area. The Landsmeet hasn't even been called. We have time."

Sten thought for a moment and nodded. He collected his equipment in the corner. Alistair followed him. "What! That's it? You're not going to put your foot down?"

Sten turned to Alistair calmly. "She understands the Qun better than you, Warden."

Morrigan sat quietly, with a smug grin and tried to appear helpful.

Alistair continued to beg Nuraya to reconsider and Wynne came to his defense. As Nuraya stood near the doors, waiting for Sten, Oghren and Zev to organize their equipment, Wynne approached and put her hands on Nuraya's shoulders.

"Think of your duty to the Blight and the Grey Wardens, child. What if you are killed? Who will help Alistair kill the Archdemon? He cannot do this alone!"

"Wynne, you fail to see the bigger picture here. We need support from the nobility. Many do not trust mages. I am going and you will _not_ undermine me."

Wynne recoiled and instead of volleying a defense, she softened. "Then at least be prepared." Wynne handed her a large package of lyrium, healing and injury herbs. "I want you back in one piece."

Nuraya offered her a quick embrace and instructed her companions to meet her outside. She turned to Alistair, brooding by the fire. He pulled away when she touched him.

"If this is my fate, then lead Ferelden to safety, Alistair." she whispered. "I wouldn't do this unless I felt it was of grave importance." Kissing his ear, she whispered that she loved him. He continued to glower into the fire with an unreadable expression. She patted his back and headed out of the hall.

~0oOo0~

"Sodding mud," Oghren grumbled, pulling his sunken boot from the muck.

Nuraya feared they were completely lost. What hope she had that she could easily locate the Flemeth's hut, was quickly replaced with despondency.

"Did the Warden consult a map?" Sten inquired.

"There are no maps of the wilds. People wander in and are lucky to be spit out," she growled and decided to direct the company westward. At least she hoped it was the west.

Trees loomed through a dense fog. Black branches reached from the unnatural quiet and caught her hair and scratched her cheeks. Her fingers had lost all sensation as she gripped the straps of her backpack and with cold and wet feet, tripped on the roots hidden in the mud. Their lumbering pace seemed to generate enough noise to rouse every genlock from the Deep Roads. Nuraya halted the company as she inspected a set of tracks.

"Flaming bride of the Maker!" she cursed, not caring what manner of creature she might disturb. "We are walking in circles!"

Zevran pointed toward a copse of trees. A thick trail of dark smoke drifted into the canopy.

"Either the Darkspawn are preparing their feasting fire or we are in luck!" Nuraya said and headed toward the signal. As she approached, she noticed familiar landmarks: derelict statuary cloaked in creeping moss and a hedge of cairns with weathered runes. _Yes. This is the place_. She turned to her companions and ordered them to fall back until her signal.

Gripping Galdorbryne's pommel, Nuraya marched into the clearing. An old woman stood before an open fire and poked at a simmer pot. Flemeth looked up, unsurprised at Nuraya's entrance.

"Well, well," Flemeth crossed her arms and studied the approaching mage, "look who returns! Such a surprise to find you wandering in my wood with an Archdemon still circling our skies."

Nuraya did not expect to feel so nervous. She felt no personal hatred toward the witch and hoped that her nerves would not get the better of her.

"I've come to deliver a message from Morrigan."

Flemeth grinned, clearly amused. "And how does my darling daughter fare, Warden? Has she proven her worth or driven your company to madness?" The witch returned to whatever she brewed and stirred.

Nuraya launched a fireball into the sky to signal her men. Drawing Galdorbryne over her head, she mustered her strength to behead Flemeth. As her blade fell, the witch calmly glanced at it and swished her fingers. With an incredible force, Nuraya was thrown back. With a thud, she landed on her backside and lost grip of her weapon.

Scrambling to her feet, she saw Sten and Oghren close in on a violently whirling maelstrom of smoke and void. Groping for her sword, she watched the vortex form into a great dragon. She had no time to regret or doubt her decisions.

She launched ice at its head and ran to the beast and thrust her sword into its leg. The resistance of its tough hide and muscle vibrated through her arm and Zev's arrows sailed over her head and barely penetrated their marks. The beast pounced, shook off the projectiles and expelled a searing flame. Nuraya tucked and rolled out the fire's path. On her back, she conjured frost hoping magic would be more effective than weapons.

Oghren hurled his axe into the dragon's hindquarters, creating nothing more than a scratch into its thigh, while Sten tried to gore his blade into its abdomen. Rushing to the opposite side, Nuraya dodged the hyperextended claws and worked her blade into its leg and twisted. The company sustained their assault, furiously stabbing the beast's thick scales, while dodging its whipping tale, lethal talons and gnashing jaws. Oghren bellowed insults with each swing. Zevran joined the fray, furiously assaulting the beast with his dual blades.

Rearing and belching fire, the great wyrm thudded to the ground, causing such a jolt that everyone lost their footing. Zevran quickly recovered and somersaulted to his feet, only to be caught within the dragon's wide and deadly smile. Snarling and grunting, it violently shook its head. Nuraya watched, wide-eyed in horror as Zevran worked his blades and tried to free himself from its clenched maw. Those on the ground fought with greater determination and urgency. She screamed at the dragon to let him go, and with both hands tried to slice open its impenetrable skin.

She stabbed a spot between its webbed claws. Bellowing in agony, it flung the limp elf toward the hut. Pulling out her sword, she ran to Zev. She laid her hands on his chest and inhaled deeply, drawing in his injuries and discovered that besides some deep gashes to his side, he suffered no worse than a broken femur and a concussion. He was unconscious, but she was confident that he would live. She released his pain and injury to the Maker and loped back to the fight.

"By the balls of the Paragon!" Oghren secured his helmet, jumped back to his feet and forced his axe into its shoulder. Returning the attack, it arched its neck and swung its massive head toward the Dwarf and knocked him back to the ground while exhaling flame from flaring nostrils. Nuraya sliced and thrust to exhaustion. Despair started to mix with her raging adrenaline. Backtracking toward the edge of the clearing she downed a vial of lyrium and conjured a fury of ice. The dragon slowed as its limbs became weighted in a thick frozen layer.

Returning to the front, she sent healing to her men and finally to herself. Her arms began to tremble with exhaustion. She tried a number of offensive spells and became lightheaded after consuming vial after vial of lyrium. Most had little to no effect and she cursed herself for agreeing to this impossible task. The beast showed no sign of weakness. She secured her sword in its scabbard and decided to use defensive spells to augment Oghren and Sten's muscle.

Flemeth's dragon form hovered off the ground and swept the entire party off their feet with a simple swish of her tail. Before Nuraya could get to her feet, a great shadow slithered overhead, drawing Nuraya's eyes toward the sky. Instead of clouds, she saw its pasty underside hover over her. She cast ice and hoped to roll out from beneath. The dragon flexed and frozen shards rained onto her face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sten and Oghren get to their feet and position themselves for another assault. Unable to escape, she bellowed in pain as sharp claws gripped her sides and pierced her skin. A sensation of weightlessness overcame her and she realized she was in the clutches of the beast, soaring over the treetops.

Quickly, she came to grips with her impending death and regretted leaving Alistair to fend for himself. From the ground, she heard her name, sounding farther and farther away with each pump of leathery wings.

"You bring her back you filthy lizard! Bring her back! Nuraya! Nuraya!" screamed Oghren. He was rapidly shrinking as she rose in the air. For a moment, she was delighted that he was using her proper name.

Her body flipped, her stomach lurched and she stifled a gut-wrenching scream as claws gripped her sides again. Once her watering eyes cleared, she saw the land drift past. Her arms dangled in front of her, too terrified to move. Was Flemeth intending on flinging her to the ground to have her smashed body displayed for all of Ferelden to behold? As she scanned the ground far below, she tried to pinpoint her location. Nothing resembled the maps she had seen.

Taking a chance, and hoping the dragon paid no heed, she turned her head and judged by the position of the sun that they headed east. As their flight extended across the swamplands and the edges of what she assumed were the Korcari Wilds, she faintly hoped that the dragon had no intention of dropping her. _It's taking me somewhere._ Fear regained its grip and she had to swallow hard to keep down the burning contents of her stomach.

After what seemed like hours, the land eventually sloped skyward, forming rugged hills that greeted the Frozen Seas. The dragon glided effortlessly to a grassy outcropping and released Nuraya. She tumbled and rolled in the tussock, desperately keeping the beast in sight. In a daze, she staggered to her feet, collected her nerves and reached for Galdorbryne.

"You won't need that foolish stick of yours." The old witch, back in her human form, strolled toward her. Nuraya was surprised to see that she appeared unscathed.. "You are a mage. You should be ashamed for resorting to the clumsy tools of men."

Nuraya crossed her arms defiantly. "What manner of death have you in store for me Flemeth? Be quick about it."

The witch tipped her chin to the sky and cackled. "My dear Warden, you completely misunderstand me. I thought I would bring you up here for a chat. Away from all the boys and their sticks. Just you and me."

"A chat?"

"Indeed. I've been watching you closely. Your antics throughout Ferelden have been most entertaining. I especially appreciated watching that old coot Zathrian get his comeuppance. Well played, well played."

"You brought me all the way up here to reminisce?"

"I do wish we had the time discuss your accomplishments, but time is short. You have a greater role to play in this tale Warden, much larger than you realize. As a matter of fact, it was not too long ago that I saved your counterpart and sent him off across the sea."

Nuraya stammered, still perplexed. "We make for Denerim to depose Loghain. I hope to seat Alistair on the throne."

"Oh, this Loghain character matters little to this great unfolding epic. Don't let his pompous piety distract you, Warden. But that bastard that you're so sweet on…I like him."

"We still await the Archdemon, and I intend, if you let me live, to end this Blight." Nuraya grasped at anything to make sense of Flemeth's riddles.

"Indeed you do. I grow weary how this Blight sidetracks your chronicle, but such is the nature of these grand tales. I'm not going to let you return to Morrigan empty handed and defeated."

Flemeth handed her a small journal. Nuraya turned it in her hand. It was inconsequential and written with immaculate penmanship.

"This is the grimoire that Morrigan seeks. Seeing that she had audacity to have me killed, I believe she is ready for its contents. You will return to your companions, and as far as you and I are concerned, I am dead. Congratulations, I was not an easy kill, was I?" Flemeth grinned.

"Don't you need Morrigan to achieve long life?"

"You assume too much Warden. How I achieve long life is for legend and myth. Morrigan will have no role in that. She has another to play."

"I don't understand…"

Flemeth cut her off with her enigmatic chuckle. "Oh you will. You most definitely will. But show a little patience. All cannot be revealed at once! What fun would that be? Let us quit our engrossing conversation and let me get you home."

Without another word or breath, Flemeth transformed into a massive bird of prey and scooped Nuraya in her talons and soared to the foothills below. This time, her landing was less traumatic.

She stood on the road and held her hand to her brow to watch the bird disappear into the setting sun.

* * *

_Bioware own all...except for, you guessed it, Nuraya's soul. More thank-yous to my trusted betas Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider. Things are starting to get interesting for Nuraya. Where do you suppose Flemeth has taken our intrepid hero?_


	11. Chapter 11: Dungarven

She stood between a rough cart track that drifted west and hugged the edge of the hills. Still disoriented from her strange meeting with Flemeth, Nuraya turned around a number of times until she settled on a direction to take. Guessing she had a few hours before dusk, she decided to head away from the slopes and hoped a small village lay somewhere up ahead. Without her pack, she quickly took inventory of her belongings: a few vials of lyrium, some healing herbs, an injury kit and five sovereigns. Galdorbryne hung to her side and she squeezed its pommel reassuringly. Her staff and pack must have fallen near Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds. Tucking the journal into a hidden pocket inside her robe, and felt overwhelmingly grateful to be alive. Once her bewilderment lessened, she realized she was in pain and took a moment to heal her wounds. After that, she picked up her pace, even a gang of Darkspawn could not spoil her mood.

The hills bordering the road reminded her of her childhood. They were not the snow-capped fangs of the Frostbacks, but a chain of rolling mounds, now bald and lifeless. Deep from her memory, she remembered how they would sprout green when the warm ocean currents carried the spring winds. She hiked along the path for a little over an hour and noticed nothing of consequence within the knolled valley. Wild grass, gnawed by winter's punishing bite, stretched to the western horizon. Beyond a bend in the road, chimneys started to poke up from behind the hillocks and offered reassurance that she approached a settlement. From over a steep hill, she saw a windmill grace the highest point of a village that was nestled in the valley. Nuraya could hear the vane creek and rattle in the wind. Memories from her past flooded her mind as she stopped in stunned astonishment_. I recognize this place_.

Scanning her surroundings, she searched for the Winking Moon Inn, a familiar landmark that neighboured the mill. Before the templars arrived, she would follow her father to the inn while he conducted his business. How many hours did she spend playing in these outlying fields, chasing rabbits and gathering wildflowers? She had not seen this place since she was ten, but had never forgotten it. As the mill loomed closer, she quickened her pace. Her heart skipped a few more beats when she saw the sign. Even though it was cracked and faded, it still bore the familiar winking eye and crooked smile. She could hardly believe that fate had guided her to her home village of Dungarven.

As she pushed open the wooden door, a bell chimed to alert the keep of her arrival. The inn was small, but neat and well-kept. It smelled of fresh bread that teased her empty stomach. Half dozen men turned and stared. Judging from their dress, she guessed they were farmers and besides their suspicious glares, posed no threat. Tentatively, she approached the bar and tried not to draw any more attention to herself but realized she was a sight to behold. Disheveled from her earlier battle and flight, her robe was covered in mud and her hair was a mess of tangle and braid. The last thing she wanted was for someone to alert Dungarven's Chantry to the possibility of an escaped apostate. Smoothing her hair, she approached the counter and ignored the patrons eyeing her from over their shoulders.

"Well met, traveler." The inn keep wiped his hands on his stained apron and motioned for her to sit at the bar. Despite his welcome, she could tell the inn keep was wary of the strange woman standing before him.

"A room for the night, kind ser," she answered simply. He turned and called to his wife to prepare a room for their guest.

"Can I interest you in some mead while you wait?" he asked. She pulled up a stool and accepted it whole heartedly. As he polished the tankards and steins behind the counter, he asked the one question she was unsure how to answer.

"So what brings you to these humble parts, traveler? Call me Boswell, owner of this fine establishment. Cleanest inn in the east."

"Well met, Boswell." She held her hand out to shake his. "I'm a Grey Warden on my way to Redcliffe. I have business with the Arl." She decided that honesty would probably create the least amount of suspicion. Even if Loghain's supporters were in the area, they would inadvertently keep her out of the Chantry's business.

"A Grey Warden! Aye, we've heard such tales, even here. Begging your pardon Lady Grey, there are rumors that you folk murdered good King Calian at Ostagar, Maker preserve his kind soul." By the tone of his voice and look in his eye, she could tell he did not exactly believe this gossip. She told her tale to Boswell, praying that he was easily convinced of the truth.

Boswell leaned forward, looked around and whispered emphatically. "Loghain governed these lands with an iron fist. Oh my lady, no one knew who to fear more, his tax collectors or the Darkspawn. Wouldn't surprise me in the least to hear of his treachery with the Wardens. I met one of your companions a good time back. A man of good character he was."

"Indeed? Do you recall his name?"

Boswell leaned on the counter and stared at the ceiling as he worked through his memory.

"It was Duncan he said he was, out seeking some new recruits. Said he was making his way to Lake Calenhad."

She smiled weakly and sipped her mead. "Duncan is dead; Maker be with him. Killed protecting the King, and died from Loghain's treachery."

"I knew that blighted Loghain was black to the core." He leaned toward Nuraya and smiled warmly. "Rest your pretty head and don't you worry. Loghain's men don't bother with the Dungarven. They see us as an uncivilized backwater. They can have their whorehouses in Gwaren and stay there. My business does just fine without his ilk. I didn't catch your name Lady Grey…"

Her first instinct was to make one up. She was not yet ready to reveal her identity, not until she learned of her parents. Her mother stopped writing when she was twelve and Nuraya feared that they were dead or had left Ferelden to seek better fortune. Her father had been the smith for Dungarven, so offering her name to Boswell might raise further questions. The last thing she wanted were rumours of her arrival spreading around town. Before she could make up a name, Boswell's wife interrupted.

"Your room is ready miss." A stout woman with rosy cheeks and a head full of grey curls joined Boswell behind the counter. Tucking a cleaning rag under the top of her apron, she pointed toward the second floor.

"Thank you. I'll clean up and return for dinner." She left Boswell a generous tip and followed the matron up the narrow staircase.

She was ushered to a small room at the end of a stubby hallway. Dungarven did not see many visitors, she guessed. The matron bustled about the tiny room, bobbing her head under the ceiling beams of the sloped roof. She smoothed a woolen blanket at the end of the bed, pulled down the corner a patchwork quilt and puffed the pillows.

"You can call me Tulia, m'lady."

"I'm a friend of Duncan's, a fellow Grey Warden." She hoped that would be enough information for the innkeeper's wife.

"Aye. We don't often get to host Grey Wardens in our humble inn. Please begging your forgiveness that we cannot offer you accommodations more befitting your station Lady Grey."

"Madame, your kindness is far more appreciated. I do ask that you keep my stay quiet. I don't wish to cause any trouble. You don't need Loghain's men poking about or roughing anyone up for information."

"Fair enough, m'lady. I reckon you've had enough to contend with all these Darkspawn loose in the hills. Shall I bring your dinner up?" Tulia arranged a basin of hot water and a towel on a small washing stand and stoked the fire as she chatted.

"No need. I'll be downstairs shortly." Tulia bade her farewell and shut the door behind her.

Nuraya did not know where to start. A tarnished mirror hung on a beam nearest the window. She stripped down to her smalls and cleaned off the grime and the blood. Inspecting the wounds on her side, she was pleased to see that they had healed nicely. Barely a scar remained.

Her mind turned to her companions. How had Zevran fared? She knew everyone would be utterly distraught by her disappearance and she worried most about Alistair. Sten, Oghren and Zevran would have returned to Redcliffe by now to relay the terrible news of her abduction. Their evening would be spent in mourning and despair. Would they head for Denerim without her? Had the Arl yet called the Landsmeet?

She pulled back a limp curtain and peered out a window set in the gable to watch the villagers on the street below brace against the bitter wind and head to their warm hearths and hearty suppers. Across the street where Tucker's Bakery used to be, stood a vegetable stand. A woman in a red kerchief was starting to pack away her wares for the day. To the left was Kincaid's woodworking studio. She remembered Mr. Kincaid. He was a giant of a man with legs as long as tree trunks and fingers as gnarled as roots. He would give her curled wood shavings to set in her hair so she could pretend she had blonde ringlets instead of her thick mass of black hair. Beside Kincaid's was the apothecary, now run by the Durdens. She had no recollection of that family. Only the newly painted sign hinted of a recent change in proprietors. No matter how much Dungarven had changed, familiarity still swelled in her heart.

Confident that she was sufficiently clean and put back together, she returned to the first floor to accept Tulia's hearty meal of kidney pie, carrots and potatoes and even purchased seconds. She kept to herself and tried to avoid any eye contact with the locals. Too paranoid that she would be recognized, she returned her dishes to Boswell and leaned in to speak in a hushed voice.

"Is there a smith in town?"

"Indeed Lady Grey. Amell's is down the road." He called out to a boy no older than seven, busy stacking wood by the hearth. "Boy! Take this lady to Maldwyn's." The boy nodded and happily accepted the errand. Her stomach churned with anticipation and excitement.

The boy chattered as he skipped down the lane. His long shadows danced ahead of her in the twilight. The main avenue looked more built up than she remembered. The squat stone cottages with thatched roofs were nestled between taller clapboard buildings. A man rocking in a chair on his porch watched her suspiciously as she passed. Chickens wandered in front of her in search of a stray seed. A farmer, leading a draught horse, nodded politely as she passed. From a distance she could hear the muffled refrains of an argument and the chantry bells.

"You can call me Flynn, m'lady."

"Nice to meet you, Flynn." Nuraya grinned. He asked all kinds of questions, particularly keen to hear of her encounters with the Darkspawn. Nuraya was sure to explain just how dangerous they were but embellished some of the stories for his entertainment. He stood in the road and pointed to the building already burned in her memory. Her father built this place with round river stones and timber from the neighbouring mountain wood. A great iron sign creaked in the wind, displaying his talent with a forge. In scrolling iron, it boasted _Amell & Co_. This is where she was born and the only home she ever knew. She paid Flynn a silver and he dashed back to the Winking Moon. The furnace in the smithy's yard was still lit, assuring her he was still at work. Inhaling deeply, she opened the front door.

"Smithy's closed. Come back tomorrow," rasped a voice within the shadows.

"I'm here to see Maldwyn Amell. My business will take me away from Dungarven tomorrow."

"I said we be closed. You'll find a comparable establishment in Gwaren, but of course I canna promise the same quality."

She watched an old man shuffle toward her. Her stomach lurched and she became slightly weak in the knees. Light from the setting sun illuminated her father when he stepped out from the darkness. His bushy black beard was now white, but his bright sparkling eyes were still as blue as a winter sky. She was overcome with emotion and covered her mouth to contain herself.

He waved his hand to calm this unexpected response. "There, there dear. I dinna mean to frighten ye. How can I help? You in need of a blade?" The closer he approached, the deeper his brow furrowed. He shuffled closer and squinted his eyes.

"It is me. It's Nuraya," she managed to say. Her father stood and stared in stunned silence. She burst forward and embraced him, allowing herself to weep onto his shoulder. He squeezed her tightly and patted the back of her head.

"It canna be. It canna be…"

She pulled herself away and looked at the face she often dreamed of in the confines of the Circle Tower. How she missed his warmth, his gentle hugs and large callused hands. His eyes were glazed and he trembled. He took her hand and led her through the shop to a little door that opened into his living quarters.

Offering her a seat at a small table in the corner, he lit a candle and hung a kettle in the hearth. A small empty chair sat near the corner of the fireplace, once painted bright red. Faded and peeling, it had sat empty for far too many years. Over the mantle hung a painting of her and her mother. She remembered having to sit still while the artist worked and how her mother chuckled that she had more energy than a bumblebee in a field of wildflowers. The woman in the portrait stared back at Nuraya with her pale blue eyes. The artist managed to capture their warmth and kindness. Her lovely golden hair was braided and lay over her shoulder in the manner Nuraya chose to wear hers. She barely remembered being that child in the picture. Her dark wavy hair was combed into a neat pony tail. The child leaned close against her mother's side, looking out into the room with her chestnut eyes. She wondered where her mother was.

Nuraya wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Papa. Please forgive me for arriving so unexpectedly."

Maldwyn was silent for a long time as tears trickled down his face. He grasped her hands and squeezed.

"No harm done, love. I hardly know where ta begin pup. The Maker finally heard me chant. I canna believe…"

He prepared tea and asked her how she came to Dungarven. She relayed what she could, save being escorted to the outskirts of town in the clutches of a witch-dragon. She made up a story about being separated from her companions while travelling south from the Brecilian Forest.

"Your mama would be so proud of you, pup. I wish she were here to behold the beauty you've become, and a Grey Warden at that!"

He paused and sorrow filled his pale eyes. "Your poor mama, we lost her to the fever right around your twelfth birthday. I wanted to send word, but I canna write, love."

Tears streamed down his cheek again and he took a deep breath, "I dinna have the courage to tell the village I canna write. I wanted to spare you the pain, you had enough from those bleeding templars and their Maker-forsaken rules."

Nuraya wiped the tears from his cheek with her thumb and consoled him, hoping to allay the pain he harbored for so long.

He sniffled and then chuckled. "I suppose you dinna know I sent Duncan after ye."

"Duncan? You knew Duncan?"

"Oh indeed, I know him well, met him long before you came along. Me and his da were best of friends, grew up together we did. Don't suppose you knew I was the Cousland's smith in Highever either eh? Well, after little Duncan was born they went abroad and I never heard much from them after that. Then out of the blue, this Grey Warden calling himself Duncan appeared at me forge looking for some blades. Heard from somewhere that I was the best smith in the North. Course, I took him in whenever he needed a place to say. Always troubled, that poor lad. Long after I left Highever, he'd return right out of nowhere and come wanting me to craft a dagger or a sword, whatever he might require at the time. How does he fare? I'm surprised he's not with ye."

It was Nuraya's turn to offer sad news. She explained the manner of his death. Maldwyn's anxious expression turned to gloom.

" 'Tis a shame to hear of his passing, pup. He was a man beyond measure." He stroked his beard and gripped his cup with his gnarled and well-worked hands, forever stained black from years of work. She noticed that his grip was still firm and steady.

"So, you knew he was coming to recruit me papa?" She sipped her tea and continued to listen attentively.

"He found me late last winter. Hadn't seen him for years. Even stayed with me and sat right there where you sit now pup. All dark and grim he was, yammering on about the Blight. Then before long, he was poking around my business, asking me why I hadn't remarried and started asked about you…"

"About me?"

"He knew you'd been taken to the tower. He travelled through here right before your mama passed. So last winter, there he sat and all of a sudden asks my permission to recruit you to the Grey Wardens. _'Tis a dangerous task Maldwyn_, he told me, _but at least she would be free from the tower. Ferelden needs her_, he said. How could I argue? Not many travelers come through Dungarven. I hadn't heard a word about whether the Circle would allow such a request. And here you are, after all these years. My beautiful Nuraya." He grinned through his snowy beard and he reached over to pet her braid on her shoulder.

He stood up and cleared the empty teacups and scuffled about his kitchen. When he returned, he set a plate of biscuits in the center of the table and offered some ale.

"Dowager Kendrick keeps me well fed, these days."

"Why not remarry Papa? Life is too short to be alone."

"Bah," he grumbled and flicked his hand, "I've had enough heartbreak for one lifetime. I reckon she is jus' affa me money!" They laughed together heartily.

"I don't suppose ye have the time for the fellas…" He cocked his eye as he sipped his drink.

Nuraya looked down and blushed. "Well, as a matter of fact, there is someone, although I will admit our situation is rather… complicated."

"Tell me a love story free of complications Nuraya!" They toasted each other and laughed.

"Speaking of complications, I need to tell you another story, one that'll come as quite a shock, so drink up. It's about your mother. I never imagined having this chance to tell ye and I'm not going to pass it up now that I have you here."

"Mama? Please, speak your mind, papa."

"Do you know how your mama and I met?"

"No, I can't say I do. She never mentioned anything of the sort in her letters."

"I just arrived here in the Dungarven and set up the smithy. Your mama was the miller's daughter and it didn't take long for me to take notice. She was such a pretty thing. Wild golden hair, eyes blue as the sea. And feisty! Ah, I had to work hard to get her attention but luck was with me and her parents believed we made a good match. We married in the fall and by spring she was with child. Such a hard time she had with the birth, I almost lost her. Wasn't a midwife about, just the two of us. And to make matters worse, there was a terrible storm that night, nearly blew off the sodding roof. The poor babe, he dinna make it, but I saved your mama. Nearly lost her too. She was so heart-broken, my poor love. She dressed him up like a wee doll and we waited for morning to take him to the Chantry for his final journey to be with our beloved Andraste and Maker."

"Papa, I had no idea…" The news that she had a brother came as a surprise. Perhaps they were too sad to tell her the tale when she was a girl. A stillborn son and a daughter dragged away by the templars was more than enough tragedy for one family. She was about to ask more questions.

He held up a finger, asking her to hold off. "Such a storm indeed. It blew for days and I refused to let her leave the house. What with her on the brink of death, I wasn't about to lose her as well. And who should show up at me door the very next night but Duncan! And in his arms he cradled a wee babe."

"A baby!"

"Aye love, that baby was you."

She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"What was Duncan doing with me?" The implications of Malwyn's story began to sink deeper.

"Who am I papa? Am I not your daughter?"

"Aye, you're my daughter. 'Tis the heart that determines such things and ye filled our hearts so full love." She knew this was the case, but needed to learn the rest of this strange tale.

"Did Duncan have a story? Where did I come from? Who am I?"

"You're Nuraya Briallen Amell through and through my pup, make no mistakes."

"Of course papa, I'll always love you and mama. I'm…shocked is all."

He nodded and grabbed her hands. The urgency in his look frightened her. "You deserve to hear the tale love. But take heed, you are a good soul, I couldn't be more proud to see how you've turned out. I only hope that our short time with ye had something to do with it."

She squeezed his hand and smiled, "You had everything to do with it papa." She felt no anger or reproach toward her father. He could not predict the circumstances that would keep her from this story.

He took a deep breath and continued. "I can only assume that Duncan had heard word through my suppliers that I had taken a wife and was expecting a child. He was with the Wardens and attending to some business in Gwaren. What with all that mess with the Orlesians, and I heard there was quite a mess at the Tower. I canna say what he was up to in these parts. But there he was, at me door with a pretty little babe, just while your mama was mourning the loss of poor little Tristan. He passed you over to your mama and at that moment she was smitten. You didn't cry, not one bit. Oh how quiet you were, and sweet…"

He smiled as he remembered that time, long ago.

"Anyway, Duncan pulled me aside and told me the story."

Maldwyn refreshed their drinks and tended the fire. "The Wardens were approached with a troubling tale. A young woman with child was being hunted by that bastard Loghain. Duncan took pity on the girl and helped hide her until the child was born. He said she refused to talk through most of her ordeal. He did learn was that she was a mage and had escaped the tower when the Orlesians invaded. She fled to Gwaren and took a position with the Teryn. She was… _persuaded_…to use blood magic against Loghain's enemies and told Duncan that she had been… _taken advantage of_… and the father of her child wanted her dead, before he'd allow her to bear a bastard mage-child."

"How horrible! Did you know her name, papa?" How ironic that her birth mother turned to blood magic. Nuraya half-wondered if it was her unknown spirit that helped convince her to steer very clear of it.

"I only knew it as Edana. I never knew her proper name. 'Tis all Duncan told me, maybe 'twas all Duncan knew. Loghain's men managed to get to her, murdered her in Gwaren, right in the street. Duncan was on the scene and killed her attackers. How you were spared I canna say. He took you into his arms and snuck you back here. We were not to breathe a word of the switch. Of course, had Tristan lived, you would have a twin. But 'tis not the way the Maker chose. Duncan returned with little Tristan, gave him a proper funeral in Gwaren to prove that both the lady and her babe were taken to the Maker. This was not hard to agree to, as it stopped any further questions and we could rest our minds that Loghain's men would not come looking for ye." He leaned on the table and wove his fingers together.

"Did Duncan know of the father?" Nuraya dared to ask.

"Aye love. It was the Teryn. Teryn Loghain."

* * *

_Thanks for stopping by and reading. By way of an authour's note, I want to mention that this is probably my favorite chapter. I was able to weave in some folklore and dialect from my part of the world. Big thank-you to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider for their beta magic! And again thank-you reader for stopping by. Thanks to those who have already added me to their favorites and alerts, its very encouraging! Don't by shy! Leave a note to say hi! Bioware owns all. I own Dungarven...but they are more than welcome to use it as much as they want in return ;)_ _How is Nuraya going to deal with this plot twist? Stay tuned for the next chapter!_


	12. Chapter 12: A Dark Friend

She stared out the little window in her room at the Winking Moon. Her father had spent too many years as a widower, and did not keep guestrooms of any sort. He offered her his own bed, but she could not bear to think that he would have to curl up on the floor and assured him that wrapping up in Tulia's quilt was exactly the respite she needed. Despite her exhaustion, she was unable to snatch a moment of rest. Her mind repeated the previous day's events: meeting her father, learning of her connection to Loghain, and her perplexing conversation with Flemeth. Of course, on top of this, she was sick with worry about her companions. Tossing and turning in the narrow bed, the nightmares that begged her for release and the events that had transpired kept her awake. She asked her father to join her for breakfast so they could talk again before she returned to Redcliffe.

As she stroked the quilt's detailing, she yearned for Alistair's company. Although she'd avoided consummating their relationship, she realized that her heart had already made its choice. As the grey morning light filtered inside her room, she realized that her desire to see him take the Fereldan throne wasn't just a self-centered tactic designed to liberate the mages. She watched the dust motes swirl and dance past the draughty window, knowing with certainty that beneath her politics, she wanted him to have all those things they had been deprived of in their youth. She loved him enough to do whatever it would take to see that done. She kept hope that there would be room enough for her in this plan.

She turned the events with Flemeth over in her mind but she couldn't solve her mysteries. Far too many questions were unanswered. Why was she spared? What grand plans did the witch speak of and how was she involved? What she found especially disturbing was Flemeth's comment that the Blight was just a distraction. What did she mean by that? Was she connected at all with Fiona?

Try as she might, she couldn't ignore her father's shocking story. She was the daughter of Teryn Loghain and Anora's half-sister. It did not take her long recognize the parallels with Alistair; she was also a noble bastard. This news ought to have deeply distressed Nuraya, but the truth remained apart from her. She resisted. She was still the daughter of a widower smith, a woman naïve to the world due to her confinement in the Circle. She was a Grey Warden seeking to stop a horror so great it threatened every Fereldan, free or enslaved. This is who she was. How could a man she had never met, that she sought relentlessly to depose, change any of that?

Tulia left a fresh basin of water outside the door. As she washed up before her long trek west, she felt great reluctance in leaving, but knew that ending the Blight was the best way to preserve all that she loved about Dungarven. She could hear Tulia and Boswell start their day from beneath the rickety floor boards. The clang and thump of dishes triggered a grumbling in her belly. Gathering her few belongings, she quietly made her way downstairs.

"Well, good morning Lady Grey," greeted Boswell. "Maldwyn sent word with his apprentice that he'll be a little late for breakfast. If I can be so bold to pry, I was wondering what business you might have with the Dungarven smith? Will Amell be arming the Grey Wardens?"

"My business is of a personal nature, ser." Nuraya noticed Boswell recoil from embarrassment, so she raised a hand to stay his response. "I'm Nuraya, his daughter."

"Nuraya Amell! Well bless my boots!" Boswell slapped his knee and Tulia grinned approvingly as she served fresh bread, cheese and hot tea.

"I was a good friend of your mamas," she said, taking a seat beside Nuraya and passing her a steaming bowl of pudding and stewed fruit. "I still miss her kind smile. Still use her bread recipe. Tucker's been pestering me for it for years, but I keep Bree's recipe up my sleeve…keeps the customers coming back."

Nuraya took a bite of the sweet white roll and wished she could take a dozen back to Redcliffe. Flynn stomped in and dashed to the table, grabbed a piece of cheese and turned to run outside again. Tulia urged him to sit down and eat his oatmeal.

"Sit laddie!"

"But Geordie is out with the horses! I wanna see that big black one he's got!"

Tulia groaned and turned to Nuraya. "I'm too old to keep up with the lad. His poor mama, my dearest Marsa, passed three winters ago."

Nuraya was now under the impression that life in Dungarven was not as idyllic as she imagined. Nuraya turned to Flynn.

"If you don't eat your breakfast, you won't grow up big and strong and be able to swing one of these." She picked up the scabbard that leaned beside her and pulled out the sword. His eyes grew as large dinner plates.

"Would you look at that! A dragon!" He leaned in to touch, but Nuraya snapped it away and looked at his plate. He sat down and started to eat with gusto. Nuraya winked at Tulia.

The bell chimed to welcome Maldwyn as he ushered in a gust of a chill morning wind. Nuraya ran to the door, gave her father a hug and heaped his plate full. As they shared their hearty breakfast, she recounted the highlights her recent adventures. She could tell that Boswell was desperate to hear more about recent events in Ferelden. It was, of course, his business to be in the know. They spoke at length about the Landsmeet.

"Just send the nobles here, we can tell them plenty of tales about Loghain's crooked ways. When we heard that Maric's son married his daughter, well we all knew that no good would come of that." Boswell leaned over his plate, propped on his elbows on the table and cradled his steaming mug.

"And if you convince the Landsmeet that he is responsible for the death of our king? Then what?" Tulia asked.

Nuraya scraped the final bits of her breakfast to the centre of her plate and mopped it up with a fresh roll. "I need to present the Landsmeet with evidence that his mistrust of the Wardens places all of Ferelden in danger." She tried to steer clear of discussing Alistair. No matter how much she trusted her father or Boswell, this information needed to be safeguarded and revealed at the right moment. Of course, there was still the matter of convincing Alistair.

Tulia could not be outwitted, however. "Then who will rule Ferelden?"

Maldwyn leaned in. "I'm sure Nuraya has that all figured out madam and is keeping her plans close to her chest."

Boswell threw his napkin over his empty plate and poured another cup of Tulia's strong tea "How do ye intend on returning to Redcliffe in time?"

"I suppose I'll have to run. It's at least six days on foot, five if I quicken my pace."

Boswell turned to Maldwyn, ""Tis such a delay. Do ye know of a trader heading in that direction?"

Maldwyn shook his head, "Caravans stopped running, what with the Darkspawn attacks, folk no longer risk the journey. My Nuraya has made it thus far, we can only pray for her safety and that she'll return in time." He turned to Nuraya and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Pup, afore ye make for Redcliffe, I'd like to show ye one thing, if ye can spare the time."

"Of course, papa," she answered. Tulia began to clear the dishes and Nuraya finished her tea. Boswell and her father discussed something out of earshot as she prepared to leave.

Maldwyn and Nuraya left the Winking Moon and strolled down the village's main road, bracing themselves against bitter winter wind, past his shop and toward the edges of town. The people of Dungarven paused from their routine to stare. No doubt the arrival of the stranger had begun to spread, sparking gossip and tall tales. She suspected that Boswell would enjoy a boom in his business as folk would wander to the inn in hopes of hearing more rumors. Nuraya realized where they were headed and recoiled.

"Aye, I understand your reluctance pup, but rest your mind. I know Revered Mother Lindys well. She has her own reasons to distrust Loghain. She'll keep her templars on a short leash, don't ye worry." He put an arm around her shoulder and guided her into Dungarven's Chantry.

The interior was designed to encourage quiet contemplation. With a single stained glass window at the apse, the building was oppressively dark. The glow of candlelight only created deeper shadows. The familiar intoxicating wafts of incense and the half whispered refrains of the lay sisters reciting the Chant of Light reminded her of the Circle's chapel. A templar was stationed at the door and immediately smelled her magic, but did not act on his first instinct.

Maldwyn nodded to the knight and said, "Good Morning, Ser Waverly. Nothing to see. We'll be on our way shortly."

They made their way to a small alcove at the centre of the Chantry's nave. Dozens of small copper signs decorated the back wall. Maldwyn pointed to one near the bottom left. Nuraya leaned forward and read the inscription:

_Briallen Amell_

_Wife to Maldwyn_

_Mother to Nuraya_

"_The Light shall lead her safely  
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.  
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water."_

Nuraya could not prevent her tears. Maldwyn held her close and spoke barely above a whisper.

"We must always keep Tristan in our hearts and in our memories. As much as I wanted to include his name on your mama's memorial, I didn't want any harm to find ye."

Nuraya reached to the small alter in front of her, struck a match and lit one of the many beeswax candles. She chose one that had not been burned too low.

"Andraste, guide brother Tristan to the Maker and mama's side. I'll keep your memory alive in my heart and mind," she solemnly whispered. As the candle flickered, she saw her mama, kneading bread, then wiping her brow with her forearm, allowing her flaxen hair to fall out of her bun. She looked up with her blue eyes, smiled and asked Nuraya to sprinkle flour on the table. _Make it snow, Raya._ She remembered dark snowy evenings as she sat by their hearth carding wool as her mother knit her father's socks. _If your papa didn't have such large feet, I'd get them done quicker._ And she recalled, as clear as yesterday, the sound of her mama's voice as she hummed little songs while she rocked in her chair and mended their clothing. The only time she had ever seen her mama's temper rise was when the templars came banging on their door. She had never seen her that way before and it frightened her. As she was loaded on the back of the cart, the last words she heard her mother utter was _you are the light in my life Raya, don't you ever forget that_.

Her father eventually interrupted the silence.

"Come pup, let's get ye to Redcliffe."

~0oOo0~

When they returned to the Winking Moon, they were greeted by Boswell, Tulia and Maldwyn's apprentice Geordie. Geordie held the reigns of a sleek black horse. Nuraya, always drawn to these creatures, stroked its long shiny neck. A lifetime in the Circle never afforded her any chances to see them, except on those rare occasions when she watched the templars ride away on the other side of the lake. From her window in the tower, she would watch and imagine combing their satin mane, the sensation of riding and tried to feel the wind in her hair as she surrendered to its pounding velocity. Her heart would gallop in jealousy, knowing that the templars were able to ride away from the lake, very far from the Tower.

As soon as she stared into its earthy eyes, she decided that after the Blight she would see to procuring one for herself. Now that Griffons were part of legend, she saw no reason why the Grey Wardens could not become renowned for their handsome mounts.

Maldwyn took the reins from Geordie, secured the buckles and straps, and patted the horse affectionately. The innkeeper and his wife invited Geordie into the inn, and out of the cold wind. Nuraya saw Flynn grin widely and wave to her from the window.

"Pup, I'd like to introduce you to Tandyr. He also answers to Tandie, and he'll take you to Redcliffe. We can't delay the Landsmeet by six days! Tandie will get you there in three. He's still a young chap—full of piss and vinegar—but gentle to his master. I told him to guide you there safely pup." Tandyr's head leaned over her father's shoulder.

Nuraya was dumbfounded. Ride this beast to Redcliffe? She almost laughed out loud at the thought. She imagined herself being flung from the saddle a mile outside Dungarven.

"Papa, I can't accept such a gift. He must have cost you a fortune."

"I'll hear no arguments! His mother still serves me well and she'll bear me more sons. Consider this my contribution to the Warden's effort. Surely, the Wardens are in no position to turn down a donation? Now let's see how the saddle fits love. It belonged to your mother."

Hesitantly, she approached the stirrup, wondering how she was going to climb on its back. He was so tall. Tandie nickered, flicked his ears and bobbed his head expectantly. She hoped that he did not smell her fear. As if he sensed her worry, he steadied himself and looked at her. His long black lashes framed the brown eyes that calmly followed her.

Maldwyn stroked his neck. "Aye, Tandie, she's been locked in the Circle her whole life. You'll have the pleasure of being her first." The horse shook his head, letting his ebony mane flutter momentarily. Maldwyn grinned and turned to Nuraya.

"Chase away your worries Pup! Tandie might be young, but he's very keen. Come, have a lesson and then be on your way afore I lock ye in the smithy." He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"First! Never approach Tandie from behind. He can't see back there, makes him all skittish and you don't need to learn firsthand how potent his kick is."

They walked around the front of the stallion. Nuraya pet his muzzle as she passed and stood by the horse's left flank. Maldwyn handed her the reins. "Hold this with your left, now step in the stirrup with your left foot…that's right. Now hang on to the withers with your left hand as well." He pointed to the crown of Tandyr's shoulder. "Grab the pommel of the saddle, not the back, that's right, right at the front." Nuraya nodded and carefully followed his instructions.

Propelling her body upward and over the Tandie's back, she found herself seated in the saddle. She wiggled her feet into the stirrups as Maldwyn inspected the saddle's fit and gave her some pointers on her posture and position. Her nerves got the better of her, despite the exhilaration of sitting atop this beautiful creature. She stroked his mane and neck, hoping that Tandie would be as patient as her father.

"Our laddie Tandie understands some basic verbal commands, woah, walk, trot, canter and gallop. To turn him, you just nudge the reins in the direction you want to go. Getting used to your position as he moves will take some time. I can give you some pointers, but really, just do what feels right. Just become a part of Tandie, that's the best advice I can give."

He continued to explain how to control the horse as well as how long he could sustain a gallop and how often he needed rest and food. She wished she could scrawl it all down on a piece of parchment for future reference, but like all things with this Blight, it was trial by fire.

Maldwyn guided Tandie to a large open field and had Nuraya test out the commands, reigning and her stance. She was surprised how quickly she gained her confidence. Maybe riding was akin to magic and coursed through her veins just like lyrium. Leaning forward, she tightened the reins and nudged him with her knees. As he gathered speed, Nuraya's heart pounded and she clenched her jaws nervously, but eventually surrendered to his speed. The bitter air rushed past her face and whipped her hair out of its braid. This is what freedom felt like. The ground blurred below her and she eased back the reins to slow his pace. Instead of looking to her journey back to Redcliffe as a chore, she looked forward to it. Turning Tandie back, she cantered toward her father.

"Ye make a fine pair, you and Tandie. Better be on the road and make the most of the day." He slapped Tandie's hindquarter. She urged the horse beside Maldwyn walked back to the inn with him. A small group had gathered outside the Inn to see Nuraya off. She thanked Boswell and Tulia for their kindness and hospitality. She looked down at her father and reached for his hand.

"This is not a good-bye. I'll return," she promised. Her heavy heart pained. Still saddled, she continued to stroke Tandie's neck.

"I always knew the Maker brought you to us for a reason, Nuraya. Even when they took you away, I knew deep in my heart that you'd make something of yourself. It was never clear how, but now I see. Stop this madness, and trust your heart as I trusted mine." His pale blue eyes were locked into hers, and she tried to look strong and live up to his words. However, her vision blurred and she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Maldwyn turned to Geordie and took a parcel from him and offered it to her.

"I see you have a handsome sword. Maybe someday I'll have the honour of forging you another. Please, use these."

She opened to find gauntlets and greaves forged in white steel. She noticed the scrollwork detailing was typical of her father's style. He helped her equip the final pieces of her armor. Not only did she look complete, but she felt it too. Maldwyn patted the saddlebags.

"Here's some food, blankets and some other provisions you'll need on your journey. I also included a map and marked out the safest passage for ye. Now ride, ride hard and ride long. Maker be with you daughter. You have my love."

"Aye, you have my love papa. Maker preserve all of you. I won't fail any of you." She turned Tandie west and departed.

~0oOo0~

It was dusk and she guessed she still had a half days ride, once Tandie was allowed some rest from their demanding journey. She followed her father's advice and balanced the horse's capacity for speed and endurance. Toward nightfall two days before, two highwaymen believed they discovered an easy target for intimidation and robbery. A couple of paralysis spells later, Nuraya quickly gained control of the situation. She ignited Galdorbryne and gutted the largest of the thieves cleanly. Turning to his companion, she discovered he had escaped and decided upon Tandyr as his trophy and best chance for escape. Before she could conjure mind blast, Tandie bucked irately, threw the thief on the ground and proceeded to stomp until the man lie limp. Nuraya checked to ensure no harm had come to her horse. Pleased that there wasn't so much as a scratch, she cleaned what few valuables the men possessed and continued on. This was the beginning of their companionship.

At dusk on the last night of their journey, she set a small fire near a willow grove, and hoped they would find shelter from the relentless wind. She imagined her company would be sick and numb with grief, and she held out hope that the Arl would allow a mourning period before calling the Landsmeet. She was racing against time. Tonight, Tandie was nervous, snorting and squealing on an off through the evening. She went to him and spoke soothingly, trying to pacify his edginess with an apple and an embrace. She often found herself talking to him and never once felt without a captive audience. Pacing the perimeter around their small site, she reminded herself of Sten and his watches, as she stretched her aching riding muscles. She enjoyed this aspect of riding the least and wondered if she would ever be able to sit properly again. Tandie whinnied distressingly again and nodded his head obsessively. Before she could investigate, her internal beacon activated.

"Darkspawn, Tandie. You were a fine Grey Warden ever before we met. Nasty things, they are. Do not be afraid to run. We will find one another in time." She untied him from the willow and pulled Galdorbryne from its scabbard and headed toward the darkspawn.

From the shelter of the willow, she counted nine: three genlock archers, four hurlock swordsmen, and an emissary. Her stomach sank as she realized what she faced, but she was not about to give up now that she was so close to Redcliffe's borders.

Visualizing the inferno rune, she cast it to weaken the entire group. The Emissary, shielded by a protective ward, stepped out of the roaring flame and hit her with surge of lightning. Every cell in her body shuddered in prickling currents as it worked its way through her. Before the beast could cast again, she conjured crushing prison, to immobilize it until she could engage it hand-to-hand. He would be deadlier with his ranged spells and she wanted to put as much distance between him and Tandie. Her magic successfully bound him immobile.

Hurlocks wielding rusty swords ran from the waning blaze toward her. For what seemed like hours, she defended each of their attacks with all the energy she could muster. Swinging her sword with both hands, she finally managed to decapitate the first of the hurlocks, and then sprayed the rest with frost. Icebound and like violent and terrifying sculptures, she shattered them with arching blows.

She hardly noticed the emissary's punishing bolts and was able to shrug off most of what it conjured. Reaching in her robe to knock back a health potion, she felt she had enough lyrium to sustain the remainder of the battle. Running to the emissary, she smelled its dark stench and lyrium. Its eyes were glazed in fury, glowing brightly. Its jaw hung open as if were intoxicated by its own magic. With an over handed thrust, she embedded the edge of her blade into the creature's skull. It screamed and using the last of its energy, ignited its hands and attempted to set her on fire. She ducked and used her sword to slice open its legs. The emissary crumpled beside her. As she got to her feet, she drained the remainder of its life force and drew it into hers. She could feel its bitterness mix with her own, but did not refuse the extra energy.

On a knoll, three archers launched arrows at her. She imagined the rune governing grease and discharged a pool at their feet. Taking pause to replenish her lyrium, she then lobbed a ball of fire into the center. Two of the archers fell within minutes, succumbing within their funeral pyre.

One remained. She scanned her mind for its location. The final genlock called from behind her and before she could turn around to launch her assault, an arrow pierced the shoulder she had injured on her return to the Circle with Alistair. Turning toward the last archer, she saw Tandie bucking and kicking. It wielded a dagger and attacked her companion. Nuraya commanded the horse to retreat and run. Forgetting the arrow and her burning agony, she dashed to her horse. With her remaining reserves, she froze the genlock as it reached for a arrow to load in its bow. She raised Galdorbryne and severed its arm. Bleeding profusely, it turned to her, bared its rotting teeth and screamed in her face.

"Blighted devil! This is what you get for attacking an unarmed creature!" She screeched and sliced open its throat.

She collapsed on the battlefield, utterly exhausted and fell to her side as pain radiated through her shoulder. Surveying her inner landscape, she sensed no more darkspawn. They would be safe for the time being. Unsteady and shaking, she managed to rise and staggered to Tandie. He was bleeding considerably from a number of gashes. To her horror, three arrows were embedded in his right hindquarter. He brayed and whinnied, no doubt in the same amount of pain as she. In a calm and assuring voice, she soothed Tandie's fears and quickly gathered all the lyrium she carried and consumed every drop. Focusing on her healing magic, she attended to the more superficial wounds before removing the arrows. Using a hint of paralysis, she numbed the area, pulled out the projectiles and tasted the tips to insure they had not been poisoned. She was pleased to taste the coppery blood of her horse and sensed none of the acidic taint of darkspawn poison. Laying both hands on the weeping punctures, she drew the injury into her mind and watched the shadowy forms of torn muscle and frayed tendons. Releasing the vision to the Maker, she watched as the messy wound close and disappear. Walking around Tandie, without taking her good hand off his sleek body, she inspected his every contour and healed ever scrape and abrasion she encountered.

Exhausted, she kneeled on the ground and bowed her head, hoping to regain her energy and remove the embedded arrow from her shoulder. Tandie ambled behind her and nuzzled the side of her head. His hot exhales fluttered across her cheek and his velvety lips kissed the back of her head and neck. She looked up and smiled, but realized she had to wait until she was fully rested in order to heal herself.

"I don't know about you, my good friend, but I am in no mood to camp here. Stinking darkspawn. Feel like making for Redcliffe now?" Tandie nickered affirmatively. Taking a deep breath and bearing the sharp pain, she climbed onto his back and encouraged him to run into the night.

* * *

_I know many of you are probably curious and perhaps disappointed that the Mabari is not featured. Truth be told, I am a bit of a cat person and I didn't think a dog suited Nuraya's style. Given that the DA games are bereft of any equine influence, I thought I would fill in that hole. Bioware owns all, I'd gladly lend you some of these Characters to return the favor! My appreciation goes out to Kira Tamarion and DoorBellSpider for the generosity they have given this story - their time, grammatical corrections, canon comments and general encouragement have all made this tale the best it can be. Poor Nuraya is in a bit of a state here...will she make it to Redcliffe on time? Has Eamon already called the Landsmeet in her absence? And what is she going to tell Alistair about her connection to Loghain? Stay tuned for the next Chapter of In Her Minds Eye!_


	13. Chapter 13: Arrival

Gripping the reigns with her right hand and holding her left against her chest, she wanted to prevent the arrow from vibrating. Sleet lashed her face, scratching the corners of her eyes. Glancing down, she realized crimson stain on her chest was spreading. The genlock's precision was good, but thankfully not deadly. The arrow managed to enter near the armhole and exit at a weak point between her breastplate's scales. At the peak of every rise in the road she hoped to glimpse the village's red cliffs. _Over the next_, she promised herself, _if not this one, then the next_. With no lyrium or inner energy, she was unable to heal herself and was grateful that she still had the strength to prop herself up in the saddle. She could no longer feel her hands or face and couldn't tell if her injury or the weather was responsible. Tandie had barely eased his pace since they had encountered the darkspawn and Nuraya believed that it was sheer determination and not fear that helped them maintain this frenetic pace.

The edges of her vision clouded. Reaching with her left hand, careful to avoid the arrow's shaft, she awkwardly wiped away any debris from her face. She felt it shift inside her, gasped loudly and then bit her lip to redirect her mind. Now desperate to get to Redcliffe, she deduced that the arrow missed her vital organs, but what other havoc it wrought was unknown. The blurriness persisted and she slowed Tandie to a canter. She could barely rise and fall in her saddle and was sweating profusely. Tandie must have sensed this and slowed to a walk. Leaning on his withers, she mustered what energy she had to remain upright. Dizzy and feeling faint, she described the major landmarks to Tandie, and promised shelter and a feast of carrots if he delivered her quickly. Her breathing became ragged and her ears started to ring.

Nudging Tandie with her feet, she urged him to quicken his pace. All she wanted was a drink. Her mouth was pasty and the road in front of her started to spin. She shook her head, determined not to collapse. Squinting into the sleet, she saw two figures on horse toward the horizon. Did darkspawn use horses? She found it difficult to reason, to recall whether she had ever seen a Hurlock on any type of beast. Looking up again, the figures were larger now, but still too far to assess her risk. What if these were Loghain's men? Her hand slipped from the base of Tandie's neck and forced her forward. The arrow grazed Tandie's shoulder, causing her to roar in agony. Feeling her unsteadiness, Tandie slowed again until she was able to sturdy herself.

"Hail!"

She heard the approaching voice and peered out from her hood. At least it was a man, and from his attire, gathered he was military. A second soldier drew in behind him.

"Are you in distress stranger?"

She swiped her hood from her face and recognized the Redcliffe standard on the guard's shield. So relieved, she wanted to cry.

"I have business with the Arl of Redcliffe and the Grey Warden. Are they at the castle?"

The soldier dismounted and walked over to her. "Begging your pardon, who are you?"

"I am… Nuraya Amell…a fellow companion," she managed to say, "I have urgent business at the castle."

"The Grey Warden? She is dead. The Arl is preparing her funeral."

"I _will_ be dead if I do not remove this blasted arrow!" She parted her robe to show her wound. With great difficulty forming her words, she pleaded. "Allow me passage… The Arl knows me."

The soldier in the back spoke to his companion. "What if she is a witch, Captain Fane? She may be setting a trap to kill the Arl!"

"I'm no trick, kind ser," she slurred. After a considerable pause, she wiped her brow and continued, "I was here in Redcliffe in the autumn. Don't you remember me? I fought with your kin in the village square. Were you there? Don't you recognize me?" Her voice cracked and she leaned forward again, coughed and then sputtered from the pain. If they continued to negotiate she feared she would drop on the road.

The soldier dismounted and pulled her into his arms.

"If she is who she claims and dies before our eyes, the Arl will have our heads on a pike," he said to his companion. "Take the steed, Ronson. I'll get her to Redcliffe."

Captain Fane lifted her to his bay and positioned himself securely behind her. With her good hand, she squeezed the man's arm and pointed.

"Tandie," she gasped.

"Ronson will get him to the stables. Maker, you are burning up." He clicked to his horse and it galloped toward Redcliffe.

Her head lolled and she leaned into his chest and tried to focus as they rode. She lost all sense of time as she fell in and out of consciousness.

A voice pulled her from the darkness. "Stay with me lass, we near the Castle gates."

His horse skidded on the cobblestones as they came to an abrupt halt.

"Summon the Arl! This is a matter of extreme urgency!"

She heard a rumbling of voices. "But Captain Fane, the ceremony has started!"

He steadied Nuraya as he he dismounted and held her in his arms. She no longer had the energy to brace against the pain. The icy rain felt good on her hot face. The man who carried her smelled of sweat, horse and safety.

"Go get the Arl before I charge you for insubordination! I suggest that you run!"

Nuraya struggled to remain conscious, but her first instinct was to close her eyes and surrender to the rolling black waves overcoming her. She felt as if she were sinking, falling away.

"Follow my voice lass, stay out of the Fade until we can find Wynne."

Through the darkness, a light flickered in her mind, like the sun passing behind a cloud. It flashed again. She opened her eyes wide. She recognized the sign. She felt the difference. Turning her head, a blurred form approached and she heard the click of boots on stone.

"Alistair," she rasped.

~0oOo0~

"Sleep, go back to sleep…"

Something cool was on her brow.

"Water…"

"You have a fever. Wynne wants it to run its course; she says it will fight the sickness."

She felt her head lift. The water was like a mountain stream running into a drought ravaged gully. She struggled to consume as much as the tipped glass would allow.

"Easy now, Wynne says little sips."

Nuraya collapsed back into her pillow. Every muscle ached and her bones rattled with chill. She turned her head and tried to focus. The light in the room was very bright and pained her eyes and temples. A hand squeezed hers. She turned her head and saw Alistair's grave expression.

"So how was my funeral?" she whispered, offering a weak smile.

Alistair leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Well, I was looking forward to the reception, but _you_ so rudely interrupted. Rest, you need to rest." He sponged her forehead again. "Still so warm, my love."

She heard footsteps approach the bed and Wynne peered down upon her.

"How are you child? I should be mad with worry, but frankly I'm thrilled to have you back."

Wynne touched her head with the back of her hand. Pursing her lips, she felt her patient's pulse and then put her ear to her chest.

"Well, the fever is still quite high, but everything else is as it should be. Listen to Alistair and sleep. That is the best healing I can offer."

"Why make her go through this Wynne? Why not use herbs or just heal her?"

Wynne smiled as she lifted the covers to check Nuraya's injuries. Nuraya had no recollection of being changed into the cotton shift, or having that darkspawn arrow removed from her chest.

"The more a healer experiences illness, the better they are able to heal others." Wynne responded, with clinical precision.

Nuraya opened her mouth to offer an explanation, but Wynne shushed her.

"We'll talk about it later my dear. I've heard stories through camp about your sudden ability to heal. Your fever is high, but not life threatening. I know it seems rather odd to have to endure this when I have the ability to cure you. You'll notice a difference when it matters most, so you'll have to trust me on this one."

"I hope this is not some odd form of punishment from the Circle…" Alistair said.

"Of course not! If she received proper training, she would've had her healing initiation under less stressful circumstances. You want her healing skills to improve before you face the Archdemon, don't you? I can't imagine a better time to get it over with."

Wynne spoke softly but firmly. Guilt washed over Nuraya and she was unsure what felt worse, the effects of the fever, Wynne's reprimand, or her guilt for being caught breaking Circle protocol. Wynne finished tucking Nuraya in and had her drink more water. She poured a full glass and then turned to Alistair.

"I want her to finish all of this within an hour, but not all at once; small mouthfuls at a time. I'll be back to check. Don't wear her out Alistair, she needs more rest."

He stroked her cheek, rolled his eyes and grinned. "Absolutely, Wynne. Now tell that to the patient."

Nuraya heard the door shut.

"Where is Morrigan? Is she still here?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Leliana and Wynne convinced me to allow her to attend the funeral and I threatened to throw her in the Redcliffe jail if she stayed a moment longer. Things have been rather up in the air for the past twenty-four hours."

"I need to see her." She pointed to the water and Alistair offered her another mouthful.

"Now is not the best time, love."

She squeezed his hand with what strength she had. "How is Tandyr?"

"You were discovered alone, love; you had no companions."

Nuraya furrowed her brow. She would have displayed her panic more dramatically, if she could.

"My horse?"

"Oh right. Captain Fane did mention that. I imagine he was taken to the stables."

"Can you see if he is alright? Please?"

"Sure. Anything, love. I've had the worst week in my life. Stomping around in the manure will be a welcome distraction." He leaned closer to the bed and rest his cool hand on her cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You're sorry that you aren't dead? When Sten, Oghren and Zev returned from the wilds without you and then told me that fantastic story that you had been carried away by a dragon…well I was about set out for the Deep Roads to offer myself to the horde. I didn't know what I was going to do without you. I even promised Eamon that I'd take the throne at the Landsmeet and rule Ferelden in your honour."

She smiled weakly and nuzzled his hand. "Has he called the Landsmeet?"

He shushed her again. "Rest now, politics later."

"Please, I want to see Morrigan. I'll go and find her myself if you won't bring her to me. I promise I'll sleep after." Alistair groaned but capitulated and left her room.

Within minutes, Morrigan appeared by her bedside. Alistair stood by the hearth with his arms crossed; he was in a foul mood.

"Alistair," Nuraya whispered. Her throat was raw. "Can you check on Tandyr? Take him some apples. I promised."

"Very well. But if you aren't asleep by the time I return, I'll be very mean and bring back Wynne."

Nuraya expected Morrigan to have a witty and insulting comeback to his last statement, but remained oddly silent.

"And if even a hint that her condition worsens, you run to Wynne. Do _not _touch her." He said to Morrigan sternly.

"I shan't interfere." Morrigan sighed.

He closed the door disapprovingly behind him.

Morrigan pulled up a chair beside the bed and helped Nuraya drink.

"So barbaric what this Mage does to you, my friend. Are you sure you do not want me to end this nonsense?"

"I'll be fine. I could use the rest."

"So. You were dead and now you are not. I will admit that I suffered a terrible amount of guilt when that Qunari said my mother had taken you. I do not know how to say this, but I used to believe that I did not desire or require friends. I was wrong. I am so very relieved that you live, my friend."

Even in her weakened state, Nuraya could tell how difficult it was for Morrigan to utter that sentiment.

"Your mother is dead, Morrigan. You are free." Nuraya saw Morrigan's eyes soften, although they revealed no specific emotion. "Where are my belongings? I found something on her body that you should have."

Morrigan looked around the room and opened a chest at the foot of the bed.

"They are here."

"Find my robe, there should be a book in an inside pocket."

She rummaged through the trunk, pulled out her robe and found the small journal.

"This? What pray is it?" she asked, quickly flipping through the onionskin pages.

"You tell me."

Morrigan returned to the bedside and set the book on the night stand. She tipped the glass for Nuraya and settled beside the bed.

"I will report as soon as I have some time to investigate." She pulled the stray hairs from Nuraya's damp forehead and tucked them behind her ear.

"I don't know how I will be able to thank you or return the favor. Please get better and we can talk more. I want to hear about how you managed to put an end to dear mother." Was that a hint of sarcasm in her voice? Nuraya's mind was too foggy to tell.

Nuraya was not accustomed to this side of Morrigan and felt rather awkward. She grinned and nodded. Morrigan slipped out of her room and Nuraya turned to the nightstand and saw that there was a quarter glass of water remaining. _Someone is going to get in trouble for that, and it won't be me._

She wondered if Morrigan would ever see through her lie. What if Flemeth had deceived her? What if she had become both the trap and the bait? The deception would be difficult to bear. And of course there was the matter of her birth parents. Should she tell Alistair? How would he react? Could she use this to her benefit in the Landsmeet? Her head ached as these thoughts bore inside her mind. A droplet of condensation slid down the side of the tumbler. She tracked its trajectory and observed how it disappeared beneath its base. She distracted herself and thought of her father, not the man responsible for her existence, but the one responsible for her soul, her heart and her will to live. Every other idea involved effort and pain.

~0oOo0~

I'm on the ledge watching the horde march past. It's always the same view, the same vantage point. The smell is familiar. It's oppressive and putrid and travels right through my nose and onto my tongue. Shadows of grotesque silhouettes and rheumatic talons ooze up the cave wall. With digits spread, I'm convinced they'll reach right out grab me from where I stand. Sweat trickles down the center of my back. I walk to the edge of the precipice so I can find it. Hurlocks and ogres, genlocks and emissaries clutch torches and file through the vaulted cave, twenty wide and infinitely long. Their mind is in mine. They're fixed on a single purpose and are resolved to go surface and kill everything that crosses their path. They utter no sound, no growl, and no grunt. It's silent. Deathly quiet. Only the sound of ten thousand clumsy feet stepping in unison echoes through the cavern. Marching. Marching.

_Release me! Release me! _

I turn and suddenly, I'm face-to-face with its jaundiced eye. The pupil dilates. Flecks and rivulets of crimson mark the golden landscape of its iris. The pupil, a black slit, grows as it focuses on me. A nostril, warm and sticky nudges my face. It inhales and I twitch. It wants to taste my mind.

_Release me! Release me!_

I want to touch, reach out my hand and stroke the sharpness of its scales. This urge is overwhelming and powerful. Where is my fear? My hands do nothing. It swings its head to the chasm and exhales flame. The air swirls, steaming, churning, smoking. It calls for me again,

"_Release me! Release me!"_

Pity rises to the surface. Yes, I feel pity for it. I see inside its mind as it tastes mine. I push aside its darkness and sense an ancient hatred so old that it has forgotten the reason. I understand this sorrow. A tear glides down my cheek. This sorrow is worse than fear.

~0oOo0~

Her eyes fluttered open. She had become accustomed to the dreams, even the terrifying ones. This one left her particularly unsettled. Flinging the blankets off, she was relieved that the fever had passed and besides the lingering grogginess, she felt well. Alistair slept in the chair next to the bed. She placed her bare feet onto the cold floor.

"And where would you be going?"

"I'm starving." She returned to her side of the bed and coaxed him to join her. "What time is it?"

He stretched out his stiff neck and grinned widely, settling beside her. She took him in her arms, and kissed him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer, caressed her face and then her arms.

Leaning his head against her forehead, he whispered, "I never thought I would be able to do that again."

She grinned and kissed him again. "I love you Alistair. The entire time I was gone, I felt absolutely dreadful knowing that you would think the worst." With his arms around her, she leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. "Is it night? Day? I've lost track of time."

"It's late. Very late and almost one week since you left for the Korcari Wilds."

Nuraya crawled out from his arms and grabbed a woolen throw and wrapped it around herself. She realized she was in the room where she had stayed when she had entered the Fade to free Connor. At the vanity, she searched through the dainty drawers and located a piece of ribbon. With a brush, she quickly tied her hair back and decided to braid once she had bathed. It felt greasy. She had become accustomed to being dirty, but never lost the desire to bathe. Wandering about the room, she poked around the cupboards and wardrobes.

"What are you looking for?" Alistair asked.

"Where are our supplies?"

"They're in my room. What do you need?"

She looked over at him; he was ready to go back to sleep. She made for his room on the other side of the door and rummaged through a large burlap sack of items that they intended on selling to fund their travels. She dropped a pair of worn leather boots on the floor and stepped into them. Alistair leaned forward and watched her.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"To the kitchen. As I said, I'm starving." She returned to her room and kissed Alistair on the forehead and then at length on his lips.

"Get some rest, I'll be right back. I doubt I'll be in any danger in the kitchen."

"I'm never letting you leave my sight again, Warden Amell."

With his arm around her waist, they made for the Redcliffe kitchen. The castle was dark and quiet and their footfalls rang out in the hall. She did not want to rouse any of the staff, or her companions. She wanted to spend this time with Alistair.

Investigating the kitchen, she found a pot of stew and some day-old rolls. Not as good as Tulia's, but her appetite wasn't going to complain. She found a bowl and a ladle and served herself a heaping portion.

"Hungry?" she asked Alistair, licking her thumb. Pouring herself a tall serving of milk in an ale tankard, she sat at the table where the kitchen staff dined.

"I'm okay thanks." He yawned and rubbed his eyes. She felt bad that he insisted on following her. He could have stayed in bed. "So are you going to tell me what happened?"

She pulled a candle from the centre of the table, and lit it with a small flame on her finger. She was relieved that her abilities were still intact. "Morrigan didn't tell me that Flemeth could turn into a dragon."

"I knew it was a trap," he groaned.

"Maybe she didn't know. Not exactly the type of thing you ask your ma…"

"So Oghren says that just as you were able to get the upper hand, she picked you up and flew away."

"I wouldn't say that were ever able to do that, but yes, that sounds about right."

"Where did she take you?"

Nuraya didn't mind that the discussion had turned into something of an interrogation. She was too busy scarfing down the cold stew.

"I'm not sure. Somewhere near Gwaren I think. I didn't exactly pull out my map. I watched carefully and when Flemeth neared the ground, I started attacking. She dropped me, not too far from the ground and I managed to paralyze part of her. Took my sword and stuck it right into her neck. When she died, she turned back into her human form. I picked her body clean and burned the remains."

"It was that easy?"

"Of course not, but that's pretty much how I managed to kill her." The lie seemed too easy to tell.

"Did you find anything on her body? Anything worth keeping?"

"Nothing."

"And then what happened?"

"I walked, I'd say for a few hours. The area started to look familiar. And the oddest thing, I found the village where I grew up."

"Well that was a lucky coincidence!" Alistair's eyes widened as she told him.

"I'd say! I went to the Inn there, managed to talk to the keep and found out that my father was still there."

"Did you go see him?"

Nuraya smiled and nodded. "He told me that my mother died some years ago." She frowned as she bit the roll.

"I'm so sorry." Alistair reached over for her hand. She shrugged.

"Died of fever. Maybe being in the Circle saved me, who knows. Anyway, other than finding that out, it was a wonderful visit. Maker I missed my papa. I'd like you to meet him someday."

Alistair smiled. "I'd like that."

She rinsed her dishes in a basin of water and set them on the counter.

"So what about the Landsmeet?" Nuraya searched through some storage bins inside the pantry she gathered some carrots and apples in her woolen shawl.

"Arl Eamon planned to call it after the funeral, and after you returned said that he'd wait for you to get back on your feet."

"Excellent," she answered. "Someone else must be worried about me. Come." Alistair followed her through the livery door and crossed the back courtyard to the barns.

"So where did you manage to get your hands on the horse?"

"Papa. Said it was his donation to the Wardens."

A soldier, supposedly on duty, sputtered awake as she opened the stable door. Relieved that it was only the Wardens, he returned to sleep.

Tandie stood in a stall piled with fresh hay. He nickered and nuzzled her cheek when as she stroked the side of his dark, handsome face. She held out the apples and carrots for him to methodically crunch. She rummaged through the stables and found a comb.

Alistair yawned and settled into a fresh pile of straw.

"I haven't slept in days."

Focusing on her work, she stroked Tandie's side in rhythm to her own humming. It was the song her mother sang as she worked.

"Alistair," she asked as she gently worked out the knots in his mane. Noticing that he had dozed off, she nudged his foot with hers.

He started awake. "Hmmmm?"

"Have your dreams changed?"

"Which ones? The nasty ones or the naughty ones?" he grinned, with his eyes shut.

"I keep dreaming of the Archdemon."

"Mmmm. Me too. Terrifying. Always wake up in a cold sweat."

"Can you hear it speak?"

"Not words no. I can feel its thoughts. Evil. Horrible. Absolutely terrifying…"

She covered Tandie's back with a blanket and fed him the last of the apples, and then encouraged Alistair to stand up.

Groggily, he shuffled out of the stall.

"Why do you ask?" he asked.

"Just curious is all."

* * *

_Bioware owns all, except for the bits I made up on my own. A great big thank-you to Kira Tamaraion for your beta goodness and DoorbellSpider for the extended commentary, both your efforts contribute significantly to this story. I'd also like to give a quick shout-out to heart-of-a-dark-dragon for your review. Glad you've gotten to know our intrepid hero! And of course, to everyone else who is following quietly, hope you enjoy this next chapter. So, Nuraya is back safely from Dungarven. That only means it is time to call the Landsmeet. How is she going to react to seeing Loghain?_


	14. Chapter 14: Loghain

"You've recovered quickly, I see." Arl Eamon smiled at Nuraya as he entered the great hall.

Her companions anxiously awaited his arrival all morning. She had spent breakfast retelling her ordeal with Flemeth and harrowing journey back to Redcliffe. Everyone was impressed that she managed to return alive—even Sten. Leliana suggested this was the work of the Maker and to Nuraya's relief, Oghren had taken to calling her Warden. Even though the entire mission was a distraction, she was glad for it. Seeing her father had lifted her spirits.

Everyone was seated around a massive wooden table. The backs of the ornately carved chairs gave the impression of wooden crowns to those who sat in them. Arl Eamon took his place at the head flanked by his personal guard and Bann Teagan. He raised a hand to begin the proceedings; casual conversation quickly dissipated as all eyes were drawn to him. He looked surprisingly well. His eyes were bright and Nuraya could tell that, after all these years, he had not entirely lost his warrior's physique.

He began in an official tone. "Grey Warden Amell has accomplished much for my family and for Redcliffe, and for that I am indebted to you and your companions."

Everyone turned to look at her. Alistair sat beside her, Wynne on her other side and Zev, Oghren, Morrigan and Sten were seated on the other side of the table. She felt so grateful for all their help and support. She nodded once and kept her eyes on Eamon for fear of grinning foolishly or blooming red with embarrassment.

"All we request, Your Grace, is your help against the Blight."

Teagan leaned forward and pointed to an empty tumbler. A footman stepped forward readily and poured water his pitcher. "I think it is time to decide what we are to do about Loghain, brother. I was there when he claimed the throne. He may have been a sensible man in his youth, but now he is mad with power. We've kept your recovery quiet long enough. It is time that he learns that the Wardens saved your life."

Nuraya perked up, curious as to what Eamon might recommend.

"We cannot fight a war on two fronts. Our first priority must be to put a stop to Loghain!" the Arl responded, with a pound of his fist on the table. His voice echoed through the hall with an air of severity.

"And what of the Chantry, Your Grace? Irving heard rumors that he conspires with the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric. Will this complicate our strategy at the Landsmeet?" Nuraya asked.

"Yes, this is indeed troubling and curious. One would think that with the seat of Chantry power being in Orlais, he would be reluctant to seek them out as allies. I believe his list of allies runs thin. Quiet rumors spread that he conspired to kill Cailan. With a thousand templars stationed across Ferelden, they could serve his purposes."

"But how, brother?"

"Pardon my crassness, but one can only assume that he spreads rumours that the Grey Wardens have come under the control of an apostate blood mage."

The company's disapproval rumbled through the halls. Alistair slammed his fist on to the table.

"But this is utterly false! Nuraya has done everything but conjure Andraste herself to show that mages need not fall under the influence of demons!"

"And what of the nobles? Are they so swayed by his fear mongering?" Nuraya asked.

"Every family in Ferelden carries some form of magic in their blood. Some wish to hide it more than others. However, not all oppose him. I have considered this situation thoroughly and the only strategy to give his allies pause would be to challenge Anora's claim to the throne."

Everyone looked at Alistair. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

"Putting Alistair forward as king is our best option?" she asked. Of course she knew the answer. She wondered if Eamon knew about Fiona and how buried that secret was. She was so accustomed to locking that piece of history away, that it no longer tempted her. She chose to focus, for the time being, on her connection to Loghain. After all, it was her story to tell.

"It may be our only option. Alistair has claims through blood. Teagan and I only have claims through marriage and we would seem as opportunists and no better than Loghain."

"And what if I have no desire to be king? The Grey Wardens need me." Alistair declared.

Eamon turned to Alistair. His voice was even. "Do you want Loghain to win? If you do not claim what is rightfully yours, then Teagan and I will have to support Anora for the sake of Ferelden. If that happens, Nuraya might be arrested or worse, executed by the Chantry. Is that what you want?"

She kept a stoic expression and her eyes fixed on Eamon. Under the table, she played with her fingers nervously. Again, she could feel the eyes on the room on her. She heard Morrigan grunt disapprovingly.

"No, Your Grace." Alistair stammered. Together, they were backed into a corner, forced into decisions they would prefer not to make.

"I suggest you call the Landsmeet, Arl Eamon. We must let Ferelden's nobility to see that Alistair is the legitimate heir and that supporting him offers Ferelden the best chance of survival against the Blight." Nuraya said. She scanned the room and looked all her companions in the eye. She was grateful to feel their support at that moment.

"Then let's make haste to Denerim," Eamon concluded.

Eamon rose from his seat and spoke to his footmen about preparations for the journey. Nuraya instructed everyone to prepare and meet outside the Redcliffe gates. With renewed urgency, she followed Alistair down the hall to collect her gear and make for the stables. Eamon's personal guard's stopped them at the stairwell.

"Wardens, the Arl has requested to speak with the both of you in his chambers before you leave." He bowed and then went about his business.

Nuraya turned to Alistair with a raised eyebrow.

"Care to guess what this is all about?" she muttered.

"Not really."

They made their way to the Arl's chambers at the other end of the castle. Nuraya knocked and his guard invited them in. The Arl stood in front of his personal armour stand and instructed his valet what to pack.

"Bring my ceremonial armour, Tavish, the one with the red and bronze detailing. I also want Ser Ferris the Red's sword and two of those formal doublets as well."

Nuraya cleared her throat and spoke. "You called for us, Your Grace?" Eamon dismissed Tavish and shut the door behind them.

"Indeed, I wanted to speak to the both of you on more…personal matters. I considered it rude to raise this issue downstairs, so I asked you here. No doubt, you know of what I speak of." His eyes darted between Nuraya and Alistair.

"Would this have anything to do with marriage and my requirement to produce an heir?" Alistair soberly asked. Nuraya realized she would have to become accustomed to more and more discussions that plotted to separate them. At this moment, she was able to distance her heart from what his words ultimately implied. He might as well have been speaking about two lovers from a long forgotten tale.

"I've learned that you two have formed… an attachment. I'm not here to offer counsel or judgement, but to ask a favor."

"A favor, Your Grace?" Nuraya asked.

"Once upon a time, I found my heart wandering to places forbidden to politics. I pass no judgement. Taking an Orlesian wife was considered foolish to many, so soon after the occupation. In the end, my choices were personal, but they bore consequences and I lost many good friends and allies for it. All that I ask is that you perhaps keep your situation private until the Landsmeet has made its decision. That is all. What you decide after, I will respect, even if I will not be able to support it."

"I've no intention of undermining the Landsmeet, Your Grace. I accept your counsel and appreciate your candor." Nuraya bowed her head slightly even though his words soured her stomach. Even Eamon would not be able to support their relationship. This spoke to how difficult it would be to convince Chantry. She saved his life and his son. In the end, the Chantry's prejudice towards mages was so insurmountable that Eamon did not even consider it a possibility.

"And Alistair, a groom is preparing a mount. You and Warden Amell shall ride with me to Denerim. I am preparing a caravan for the rest of our company. They should arrive within a day of us. I'll meet you at the gates."

~0oOo0~

Nuraya and Tandyr lead the company for most of the journey. Heavy dark clouds threatened them with rain as she watched them roil and sink over the horizon. Each step toward the city was a step toward a conclusion. With a knot in her stomach, she drifted deep in thought and conspired how best she could use her connection with Loghain. Surely, she could turn this revelation to her advantage. She considered blackmail, but concluded that her identity would bear little consequence. If Loghain had so little regard for his own King, a past indiscretion would have no impact. She had to stop the Blight, this much was certain. What of her fate afterwards? Who would she be then? She wanted to scream with frustration that the power to change her fate always seemed to slip through her fingers. This did not stop her from assessing each angle of the situation. Her innate ability to imagine arcane geometry offered her an advantage with regard to political matters. She knew that there were other sides to every situation and had to become acquainted with them all. As with magic, ignorance of one corner could lead to disaster.

The most ridiculous idea about Anora popped into her head. What of suggesting a marriage between she an Alistair? The thought repulsed her, but logic said it would be the easiest of compromises and could make negotiations at the Landsmeet easier. Of course, Alistair would then become her brother, if only by marriage. Would he continue to support her personal quest in this circumstance? She needed to find out more of Anora's position on mages_. You are indeed ruthless, Nuraya Amell, even toward your own heart. _

"You've been awfully quiet. I remember when we first met you had a habit disappearing in your thoughts. I always wondered where you went." Alistair quickened the pace of his mount to walk aside Tandie. He looked so bold and handsome on his horse. His riding cloak, draped over the draft horse's back gave him an air of nobility. The wind pushed his hair away from his face, and brightened his cheeks with cold.

Nuraya stared at him blankly. "I have a lot on my mind." When she looked in his eyes, she felt as if she had just betrayed Alistair with her thoughts about Anora.

"Yes, I know what you mean. I've been tormenting myself with this blighted Landsmeet all day. Part of me hopes someone will come up with some brilliant plan that does not involve me becoming King yet delivers the justice Calian and Duncan's death deserves." Alistair muttered, watching the horizon.

"If life were only that simple," she replied distantly. At the top of a ridge, she could see the stone ramparts that protected the capital.

"There lies the city that will change everything for you and I." Nuraya stared down the hill and tried to brace herself for the onslaught she was about to face.

Arl Eamon and Bann Teagan quickened the pace of their march and rode ahead of the Wardens.

"Make haste Wardens!" Eamon commanded, "Ferelden hangs in the balance. Now is not the time to saunter!"

Nuraya shot Alistair a somber glance. "The world awaits us. Let us not make them wait." She nudged Tandie with her heels and galloped down the slope towards the city gates.

Denerim bustled with activity. Through the winding cobbled streets folk went about their business, ignorant of the looming shadow, unaware that the darkspawn clawed at their heels, oblivious to Loghain's dangerous plans of banishing the Wardens. Housekeepers shook their dirty carpets onto the street. Merchants haggled loudly with their customers. They passed a group of drunken men in a street brawl who stopped swinging their fists long enough to avoid being run down by the horses. Children laughed and then dashed into the alleyways as they played. All turned to watch the company's procession wind their way to the Arl's estate. A woman spat on Nuraya's boot and cursed her use of blood magic to kill good King Cailan. Around a corner a minstrel sang a bawdy song of Loghain's treachery. It seemed that Denerim was as perplexed as Nuraya.

The Arl's Denerim guard greeted the company as they arrived at the courtyard of the estate and escorted them to the stables. Nuraya personally guided Tandyr to his stall and took it upon herself to unsaddle, feed and water him.

"Begging your pardon, Warden. You must be exhausted after your journey from Redcliffe. Allow me the honor of stabling your horse," interrupted the stable boy.

"Tandie and I have been through much together. It is my honor to serve him." She lifted each of his legs to inspect his hooves. "I see that his front right shoe is loose. Does this estate employ a ferrier?"

"Indeed Warden. I shall see to it myself." He bowed and disappeared into the back of the stable.

Satisfied that Tandyr was settled and in good hands, she entered the estate. A servant took her saddlebag and pack, and ushered her to a room where she was urged to clean up and rest. Rest was the last thing on Nuraya's mind. She was on edge and in need of activity to keep it from spinning out of control.

Wandering back to the main floor, she found Alistair, Eamon and Teagan, still in their riding gear, deep in discussion.

"I trust that your steed is settled, then?" asked the Arl, settling into an arm chair. He crossed his leg and wove his fingers together.

"Indeed, Your Grace. Begging your pardon, Tandyr was a gift from my father. I've grown rather fond of him. Your staff are more than capable of seeing to his needs. I may dote on him too much." She was about to explain more to the Arl how he killed the bandits and valiantly faced the darkspawn, but his valet rushed in.

"Begging your pardon m'Lord. Teryn Loghain has arrived and is asking for an audience with you, Teagan and the Wardens."

"Send him in Tavish."

A wave of nausea overcame Nuraya. She hoped she was able to hide her nerves and mustered the strength she needed to bite her tongue when appropriate. Her knees felt weak as she heard the clunk of armored boots on stone, the click of gauntlets chafing chest plates and the clack of greaves colliding with boots. With an air of defiance and authority, Loghain entered the room.

She had forgotten what he looked like and now realized how closely she resembled him.

"Loghain, this is an honor, that the Regent would find the time to greet me personally." Eamon stood and eyed Loghain and his company. Nuraya recalled his personal guard, Ser Cauthrien, from Ostagar, but had never laid eyes on his second companion, who was obviously a supporting noble.

"How could I not welcome a man so important as to call every Lord in Ferelden away from his estates while a Blight claws at our land?" Loghain stared at Nuraya. His pale eyes, empty and cold, betrayed no thought, no emotion.

In response, Nuraya assessed every detail of him, reminding herself that this man was her flesh and blood. Her coloring was certainly inherited from him. Her connection to the Fade came from her mother. Somewhere within herself, she yearned to be acknowledged, despite loathing the man that stood before her, and all that he had done to her, to Duncan, to Alistair and to Arl Eamon.

"The Blight is why I am here. With Cailan dead, Ferelden must have a king to lead it against the darkspawn," Eamon responded.

"Ferelden has a strong leader, its Queen. And I lead her armies."

_The queen is my sister_, ricocheted through Nuraya's thoughts. Drawing her mind back to the meeting, she worked to pay attention and grew afraid of being addressed directly during a reverie. She decided to focus on the only person who meant anything to her at that moment.

"The throne belongs to Maric's only living son."

"Ah, the Grey Warden recruit." He looked her up and down with a sneer. "I thought we might meet again. I could swear that we have met before you were asked to join this band of antiquated mercenaries. You look…_familiar_, mage."

Overcome by shock, yet desperate to maintain her self-control, she clenched her fists. "With due respect, unless you were a frequent guest at Kinloch Hold, or travelled frequently to Dungarven, you must have me mistaken for someone else." His eyes widened slightly and she wondered if he had made the connection.

"Pity your liberator turned against his own King," he spat.

"Keep Duncan away from your filthy lies." She raised her hand and pointed. "I pay no heed to the opinions of a deserter and regicide." Nuraya's nerves got the better of her, and she allowed her rage to influence her tongue. She reminded herself to keep it together. She did not want to reveal too much.

Alistair stared at her, shocked at the venom she spewed.

"You should watch your mouth, mage. This is my city and no safe place to speak treason or practice the dark arts. The Chantry has its eyes on you." Gravely, Loghain turned to Eamon to continue. "There is talk that your illness left you feeble, Eamon. I hear rumbles among the honored nobility that you may no longer be fit to advise Ferelden."

"Illness! Why not call your poison by its true name. I caution you about these empty threats to Warden Amell with regard to the dark arts. Your hireling Jowan had no devotion toward you. Not everyone in the Landsmeet will cast aside their loyalties as easily as you and these…sycophants."

"How long have you been gone from court, Eamon? Don't you recognize Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine and Teryn of Highever?"

Howe gloated at this acknowledgement. "And current Arl of Denerim. After Urien's unfortunate fall at Ostagar, truly it is an embarrassment of riches."

"Teryn of Highever? To the last of my knowledge, the Couslands held the Teyrnir." Nuraya said. She remembered Fergus Cousland on the road to Ostagar. She suspected that Loghain and Howe had conspired against the family.

Loghain's guard, a commanding woman with a sharp demeaning expression, stepped in. "Don't interrupt, churl. Your betters are talking."

Loghain assuaged Cauthrien with a wave. "Enough, Cauthrien. This is not the time or place. I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened. Our king is dead. Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan, fought tirelessly to see Ferelden united and restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nation and weaken our efforts against the blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne."

"Then if you truly want to save this land, stand with us." Nuraya said.

"I should put my faith in untried foreign hands? How can we be certain that this Warden Mage will not resort to calling down every demon from the Fade to fight this war? Cailan depended on the prowess of the Grey Wardens and look how that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tales. Let us trust in the blood of men and not of blood magic. Stories and sorcery will not save us."

Nuraya wanted to ask Loghain how he felt to share in a polluted bloodline but did not interrupt his ranting.

"I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline, a legacy that has served Ferelden honorably for generations. These Wardens will lead us to victory in this Blight."

She looked toward Alistair as Eamon spoke and watched him blanch. _No pressure, Eamon_, she thought.

"The Emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down. Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland." Abruptly he turned and stormed out of the hall. Nuraya wondered what schemes he developed to kill the Archdemon. How would his army survive the darkspawn without support from the Grey Wardens? Truly, a man so conniving would account for this significant detail. Sighing with relief, she took at seat and buried her head in her hands. She had not expected him to recognize her.

"Well, that was…bracing. I did not expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon. We need eyes and ears in the city. Loghain has been here for months. The roots of all his schemes must begin here. The sooner we find them, the better we can turn them to our advantage. When you get settled, go and have a look around and see what you can turn up. Better yet, find the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet and test the waters. See how many will support us. When you are ready to talk strategy, come upstairs to my sitting room. We can lay out strategy then." Eamon turned, "Tavish, take Alistair and Warden Amell to their quarters. Expect the rest of their company to arrive within the day."

~0oOo0~

Barefoot, she paced about the room, unable to settle her nerves; it was having little effect in preventing her mind from careening into an abyss. As soon as she had closed the door, she stripped down to her tunic and leather breeches and struggled from her boots. A tightness had settled in her chest so that even her tunic felt restrictive. She noticed that a servant had left a tray of food, and inspected it. With no appetite, she took a tankard of ale and drank deeply. Making for the balcony, she sat and watched Eamon's guards train in the twilight. She focused on the glimmering swords and the archers as they aimed their bows at straw targets. A voice called her name from inside her room. She propped her feet up on the balcony rail and called out her location.

Alistair poked his head out the door and smiled. "A little cool out here, don't you think?"

Drinking deeply, she patted a spot beside her on the cold bench.

"I can't tell. I would have spit flame at him if I could. It would have done nothing for diplomacy, so I bit my tongue."

"That Loghain. He's stark raving mad. Imagine the nerve of accusing you of blood magic…And why was he yammering on about knowing you from somewhere? What was that all about?"

"I have no idea. The mutterings of a lunatic no doubt."

"But I saw him stare as though he recognized you."

Avoiding eye contact, she shrugged her shoulders. Finishing what remained of her ale, she set the tankard between her feet, then stood and leaned on the balcony rail. She had enough of obsessing over her connection to Loghain. Then she had a thought.

"Alistair, what if Loghain had another child?"

"I reckon we would be in the same situation as we are now, only with one more Mac Tir to contend with."

From that comment, she dared not reveal what her father had told her. "But what if this person supported the Theirins?"

"I don't know what you put in that drink, but what is with this crazy talk?"

"When I was in Dungarven, my father told me stories. It is common knowledge that he had another child. A child with a blood mage he had hired to use against the Orlesians."

"We cannot take gossip to the Landsmeet. He will just deny it and accuse us of treason, blasphemy, whatever crime he might concoct at the time. And besides that, Anora's only claim to the throne is through marriage. Even if this person existed and was older than Anora, they would have no legitimate claim. Do you have any proof that this person exists?"

"I have proof and a plan. This is not about finding another heir. We already have you." She smiled, but Alistair grimaced and rolled his eyes.

"Come."

"Maker have mercy. Last time you had a plan, I had to organize your funeral. Where are we going?"

"The Arl wants us to take the pulse of the nobility. That will be your task."

"And yours?" Alistair crossed his arms and stared down at her. She could tell he was uncomfortable with the wheels that now turned in her mind.

"I have new allies to seek." Hurriedly, she threw on her robes and armor. Sitting at the edge of the bed she worked furiously to lace her boots. She pulled Galdorbryne from its stand and buckled the scabbard.

"I have a feeling that things are going to get complicated." Alistair said, following Nuraya out the door.

* * *

_Bioware owns all. Thanks to my Betas Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider for all your comments and hard work! :) Thanks to everyone, from all corner of our fair blue planet for stopping by and giving this a read, and for everyone who has F&F Nuraya's story._  
_Off we go to the Landsmeet! How is Nuraya going to play everything she knows? She has a couple things up her sleeve. Stay tuned for Chapter 15: Birds of a Feather._


	15. Chapter 15: Birds of a Feather

"I'll meet you back here when I'm done. I should be no longer than an hour. See what you can learn from the nobles while I am gone. I suspect they will be more apt to talk without a suspected blood mage in your company," Nuraya said. They stood outside the Gnawed Noble Tavern in the heart of Denerim's market district.

"And when will I be privy to this scheme of yours?" Alistair demanded.

"In due time, love. I cannot risk implicating you if things go south. I will bear the repercussions."

He traced a finger down her cheek and lowered his voice. "I will send out the Arl's guard if you are longer than an hour."

She stared deeply into his eyes, desperately wanting to embrace him, but she respected Eamon's earlier request. Placing her hand on Alistair's she said, "Just trust me that this will not be as dangerous as killing Flemeth. Give me one hour." Pulling her hood over her head, she ducked into the darkness.

Shadows loomed over the cobbled streets and the buildings closed in around her. Puddles from the recent rains collected in the gutters and reflected the flickering torches lining the street. Horses and their riders clogged the streets and wove among the crowds. She ducked into a dark alley and avoided eye contact with a group of men playing dice at the back of a vegetable market. Dodging crates and barrels she continued to weave her way through the backside of the Market District. The smell of rotting food and old fish hung in the air. Sten often complained that Ferelden smelled of wet dog. She would have welcomed wet dog over this noxious stench. A butcher stood behind his shop, pushed aside his bloodied apron, and relieved himself. Taking another turn, closer to the main road, she hoped to avoid encountering the city guard. No doubt they would report all suspicious activity to Loghain. A pair of inebriated men, arm in arm, staggered in front of her singing out of tune. They toasted each other with their drinks and continued on, louder than before. She skulked behind them and turned down another alleyway, hoping she would find who she was looking for.

The alley came to a dead end. A solitary figure sat on a crate, beside a rather large sack and tended a stubborn fire contained in a large broken vase. His head was covered with a cowl, but the whites of his eyes caught the moonlight that filtered down the passageway. He stared coldly at Nuraya as she approached. She conjured a small flame in her palm and closed it quickly to signal she meant no harm. He replied with a hand-sized snowstorm that he dispelled as quickly as he conjured it.

"Stranger," he nodded. 'What brings you to Mage's Collective?"

"I've come with donations and to ask a favor." She opened a small package containing elf root and deep mushroom. The mage broke off a small sampling of each and placed them under his tongue. Nodding in agreement, he pointed to the burlap sack, into which Nuraya deposited her offering.

"Normally Mage's Collective does asking, Grey Warden." He gestured for Nuraya to join him.

She kicked a crate upside down and sat. "So much for travelling incognito," she sighed. "I am afraid, I am at a disadvantage." She held out her hand. The mage took hers and shook languidly.

"Kalvindir."

She guessed he was a foreigner, but could not place his accent. It was not one she was accustomed to hearing. His voice was deep and gruff, and pronounced the common-speak with an unfamiliar harshness.

"A pleasure to meet you Warden. You offer very much many free mages hope for better future. Some begin to whisper that you are liberator." He crossed his arms and studied her.

"I'm not sure where you heard those stories. Tell your comrades that my task is to end the Blight. Freeing the mages will only be possible if I can successfully put an end to it."

The mage guffawed and shifted the weight of his girth. Reaching inside his robe he pulled out a pouch. With thick fingers, he produced a small wooden pipe and filled it with an earthy smelling leaf. Nuraya lit the tip of her finger and held it to the bowl and Kalvindir inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to trail out of his nostrils and curl through his abundant beard. He offered her the mouthpiece but Nuraya politely declined.

"A formidable task. So how can Mages Collective help?"

"I need information."

The corner of the mage's mouth turned up in a knowing grin. "About what, Warden? Surely you are expert in matters of Darkspawn and Archdemon."

"What does the Collective know of Teryn Loghain? Have they an opinion on him?"

Kalvindir arched an eyebrow as he puffed more smoke. "Indeed. There is rumor that Teryn is soft on mages and more softer on blood mages."

"Soft? I've heard rumours that he's been working with the Chantry."

"Didn't say I thought he was soft. On Denerim streets, I hear everything. He tells mages what they want to hear and then turns around to chant different verse to Chantry sisters. The smart mages know they cannot trust him. Not so smart ones…" Kalvindir shook his head ruefully.

"And what of Anora? What's does she think of us?"

"Circle does manage to keep wards in dark, no? King Maric always appoint Ambassadors from Circle to court. He maintained civil relations between Chantry and Circle. Helped keep the Orlesians quiet, at least for leetle bit. Once Cailan married Anora, Ambassador Loxlan...he disappear, yes? His parts appearing in all parts of Ferelden. The position was never replaced in court and assassination served as sort of warning to us. When Cailan called mages to Ostagar, we could only assume it was Anora's influence to… _remove_ Loxlan. There are other tales of her dealings with mages. Had I time, I relate them all to you. You take my word... she is bitter enemy of mage, both free and captive." That evil thought she had earlier about marrying Anora to Alistair quickly dissolved. She was quite relieved to put that to rest.

"How quickly can you spread a message to your brethren throughout Ferelden? Time is precious."

With his rheumy eyes, he looked skyward and whistled. A thrush fluttered into the alley and perched onto his shoulder. The bird flicked its tail and cocked his head. Kalvindir held his pipe away and turned and whispered to his wee audience, it hopped closer to his ear, intently listening.

"What message, Warden?" he smiled. He reached in his pocket and pulled out some dried berries as an offering. Nuraya continued as the bird pecked at the fruit.

"Tell the Collective that Loghain and Anora _will_ betray the mages. Tell them not trust the Teryn, the Queen or their supporters. It will only end in captivity, tranquility or death." Nuraya began to feel as if she were dictating a letter and tried to sound more formal. "Support the Theirin's claim to the throne and I will ensure freedom to all mages. The use of blood magic will not, under any circumstances, be tolerated."

"And why should we trust you, Warden, mages grow weary of empty promises."

"I have influence with the Theirin line."

"You will need very much influence to get nobility to confront Chantry. Fereldan nobility consider every mage to be…superfluous…nobles do not take counsel from mages."

"Every noble in this land employs a healer do they not? Each and every one of them can plant seeds of doubt within their masters. They can whisper rumors how Loghain killed their king, how he hires blood mages to kill those who stand in his way and bring these lands to the brink of civil war and weaken them in the face of a Blight."

"Indeed, Warden. Sounds like you have axe to grind with Teryn."

"Aye. In that regard, revenge is what I seek."

"We've all been bullied by nobility. What makes you any different?"

"Loghain turned my mother to blood magic and then murdered her."

He nodded gravely, chewing the pipe in the corner of his mouth.

"And your father? Was he mage? Did he seek justice from Teryn?"

"My father **is** the Teryn, kind friend."

He stared widely at Nuraya, and then laughed heartily. His belly shook and he slapped his knee. "He brags his line has been clean of magic for generations. Oh the irony. You, Warden, are full of surprises. Collective will love this one! Loghain's flesh and blood is turning against him. That says it all, doesn't' it?" He whispered frantically to the thrush.

He paused his message and turned back to Nuraya. "Does he know of you?"

"Not yet," she grinned.

"Where can Collective find you in Denerim?"

"I cannot be seen meeting with the free mages. This is why I lurk in shadow. Loghain already suspects me as a blood mage, and I'm certain I'm being watched…"

"No one pays attention to birds, Warden." Kalvindir smiled and stroked the top of the bird's tawny head with his pudgy finger.

"I'm at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate here in Denerim. My balcony faces the training yard. And I will say this only once more. Blood magic will, under no circumstances, be tolerated."

Kalvindir nodded, gently held the thrush in both his hands and released. The bird flew away.

~0oOo0~

She entered the Gnawed Noble Tavern after her meeting with Kalvindir. The rhythmic beat of the bodhran helped slow the racing of her heart. Lively music and loud conversation filled her ears and smoke hung over the patrons. She scanned the crowded tavern and spotted Alistair in a corner. He was not alone. Sitting across from him was a young woman of wealth and standing. Pausing near the bar she watched for a moment and then pushed through a group of men, pulling out her coin purse.

"Is the Lady interested in some mead?" shouted the barkeep above the din of the crowd.

"Have you any Legacy White Shear?"

"A little strong, don't you think?"

She pushed the coin toward him and said "I require something strong, ser."

He poured the spirit into a jigger and slid it into her hands. Nuraya downed the icy liquid in a forced swallow. She turned to look at Alistair. He leaned in toward the young noble and listened attentively. She touched his hand and then covered her mouth to giggle at him. Her delicate hands danced as they engaged in discussion.

"I'll take another," she called out to the bar keep. Shaking his head with disapproval, he repeated the process. As she drank the second, Nuraya wondered how she would be able to let go, once Alistair was crowned. Bracing herself for another onslaught of negative emotion, she attempted to stride confidently to their table.

"Nuraya! Back so soon!" He pushed over making room for her to sit. Looking at his companion, she realized this woman was even more beautiful up close. With auburn hair and eyes clear as gems, she formally offered her hand to Nuraya. Nuraya shook it and noticed the stark contrast between the woman's delicate fingers and her own scarred and grimy hands.

"I have heard all about you Warden and not just from Alistair. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

Nuraya had an irresistible urge to be rude, but decided to play nice for the sake of the Landsmeet.

"Nuraya, this is Telari Cousland. She has an interesting story to tell." Alistair signaled to a bar maid. Nuraya turned back to the radiant noblewoman and tried to appear pleasant.

"Well met, Lady Cousland. I think I had the pleasure of meeting your brother."

"Fergus! Pray, when?"

"Many months ago. Duncan and I met his company on our way to Ostagar."

Telari's brow furrowed and she leaned toward Nuraya. "Have you any news of him since the battle?"

"No m'lady. I have not seen him since." Her response distressed Lady Cousland and Nuraya could not help but empathize. "Can I be so bold as to ask another difficult question?"

"Indeed, Warden. We are living in difficult times."

"Why is Rendon Howe claiming to be the Teryn of Highever?"

Alistair cut in. "A horrible tale! Go on, tell her Telari." _Telari? They are already on a first name basis?_ Nuraya wished the spirits would take effect or the barmaid would bring her more ale. Oghren, no doubt, would approve of her behavior this evening. She turned her eyes back at Telari and waited for her to continue.

"I had been visiting Bann Loren's estate at the behest of my mother. A knight in my father's employ arrived in the middle of the night to tell me that Howe had taken the castle and murdered my parents. I'm a lady with no lands now living in exile. Thankfully Bann Loren has put me in under his protection; for fear that Howe will come after me. I'm attending the Landsmeet to see that Loghain and that murdering snake, Howe, get what they deserve. In short, I come in support of what Arl Eamon will announce."

Nuraya glanced over at Alistair and gathered that he had not revealed this plan of Eamon's to Telari. The barmaid arrived and served ale to Nuraya and Alistair and placed a goblet of mead in front of Telari.

"So how many of Fereldan's finest support Loghain the Deceiver?" Nuraya asked.

"I'd say at the moment, it's about fifty-fifty." Alistair said.

"I'm not sure I am comfortable with those odds," she commented.

"I intend on meeting every one of them myself. And even if I have to hire the Crows to chase Howe and Loghain to the ends of Thedas, I will not see them hold power for much longer!" Nuraya was beginning to appreciate Telari Cousland, even though she still had an overwhelming desire to fling mud into that perfect complexion of hers.

"Shall we meet again tomorrow to learn of your progress?" Alistair asked.

Nuraya glared at him. Telari's attention was drawn elsewhere, however. Nuraya followed her eyes and saw Teagan making his way through the crowd.

"Thank the Maker I have found you!" Teagan huffed. "Come back to the Arl's estate. Anora has been kidnapped!"

"Kidnapped?" asked Alistair, "Who would want to do such a thing?"

"Rendon Howe, apparently."

"Sounds like a trap to me, be careful Wardens. I would not be surprised if they were plotting against you," Telari cautioned.

Nuraya rose and finished her drink. "Looks like we have a queen to rescue. Coming Alistair?"

~0oOo0~

Nuraya sat on the balcony in her quarters and watched the birds. She wondered how many carried her message and if it would make any difference.

"We should investigate Howe's estate when the rest of the company arrives. We'll need a decent lock-pick…" Alistair said from inside her room. They arrived back at the estate together, anxious for the others to arrive. Anora would have to wait. After Kalvindir's story, she felt that another day locked in Howe's estate might do her some good. Failing to launch a rescue operation, however, would look badly on the Wardens.

"Zevran," she called out. Alistair was poking about the room and munching on her untouched dinner.

"More muscle?" she thought out loud.

"How about some comic relief with muscle?"

"Okay, Zev and Oghren. Is there any ale left?"

Alistair returned with the full tankard she requested.

"You're beginning to rival Oghren, love. Why so much drink? You haven't been yourself since your return from killing Flemeth."

"I have not been myself since Ostagar. In fact, I don't even know who I am at times." She watched Alistair lean on the balcony, as a breeze gently mussed his hair. "I feel anchored to the world when I am with you. Once the Blight is over…"

He turned abruptly and she could see his pained expression in the darkness. "Do we have to discuss this tonight?"

"I don't want to. But at some point in time we won't have a choice."

He offered his hand and drew her into his arms. She nestled in his chest, inhaled his musky scent that filled her senses every night. His fingers slowly traced up and down her back, and she pulled him closer, hoping to never have to let him go. She could feel her eyes brim with tears.

* * *

_Bioware owns all, except for Nuraya's soul...Many thanks to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider-betas most dedicated and encouraging. You'll have to forgive me...this is the fifteenth thank-you, and although the sentiment does not change, its becoming more and more difficult to mix it up a little! And of course, thanks to all who continue to stop by, I watch the visitors stats with excitement. So fascinating to see where you are all coming from. A tip of the hat to those from Great Britain and the Russian Federation - your presence far out numbers those from Canada. What up Canucks, eh? So Nuraya continues to plot. How will her rescue mission fare? Stay tuned for Chapter 16! **Update Note**: Kalvindir came back in Andraste's Key, and for some reason, he came with a stronger accent. I tweaked some of his dialogue to reflect this. None of the meaning or story has changed. _


	16. Chapter 16: Pawn Takes Queen

The armor was uncomfortable. Nuraya wondered how Alistair and Oghren could stand it. With limited vision from the eye slits and sweat running in rivulets from her brow, she wondered how she would avoid rusting the Howe guard plate from the inside out. She longed for the freedom her robes afforded her and could not wait to discard her disguise. Walking with purpose down a corridor, the company turned a corner, still looking for Anora's room. Zevran quickly assessed the area and signaled the all clear. Anora's maid had provided them with a general description of where Howe had imprisoned her, but forgot the mention exactly which room.

"This had better be worth it," she growled. They knocked lightly on every door in the corridor hoping for a response. At the end of the hallway, Alistair rapped and then pulled his hand away in pain.

"Ow! Come…there seems to be some sort of magic around this one." He stood back and held out his hand. Nuraya stood back. He did not often use his templar abilities around her and she wanted to stay out of his way. She was never sure if templars had the ability to drain a mage's magic or if it was like corking a bottle of wine. Alistair raised his hands in defeat and shrugged.

"It's still there. Nuraya, want to give it a shot?"

Nuraya dropped her gauntlets to the floor and held her bare palms at the edges of the field. In response, they tingled from the emanating energy.

From the other side of the door, they heard a woman. "Oh thank the Maker you have arrived! I would greet you properly, but I am afraid there has been a bit of a setback."

"What do you mean, Your Highness?" Nuraya had never spoken to a queen before and had no idea if her level of formality was required. Decorum aside, she was fixated on her first meeting with her half-sister.

"My host has decided that leaving me under heavy guard was insufficient. I suspect that Howe has learned that you are a skilled mage, Warden. He has sealed the door with magic."

Nuraya held her palms as close as she could bear to the force field and closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, she felt a powerful demon channelling its energy, keeping the door sealed. Nuraya inhaled deeply and drew in the power and enveloped herself within it. If she could draw it out, she would be able to engage it in combat. A filament reached inside her mind, eager to suck more energy. She braced against the dark spirit, immediately causing the spectral appendage to recoil and stab her in the chest, as quick as lightning. Nuraya was tossed to the other side of the hall.

"You must find the mage who cast the spell. He is most likely at Howe's side," said Anora.

Nuraya shook off the disorientation. Apparently, Kalvindir's messenger had not yet reached this mage, whom she suspected had already turned to blood magic.

"I doubt he is just going to help us open the door!" She was losing patience and could not help but wonder if this was an elaborate ruse.

"Go find Howe at the end of the Hall on the left. And I send you my deepest gratitude Wardens. I will pray to the Maker for your success."

_Save your prayers, sister. This will be solved with gut and guile and magic. _

They ran to the end of the hall. Nuraya reached for the door on the left, but Zevran laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I smell coin, Warden. Begging your pardon, allow me to investigate what lies behind this door." He pointed to the door on the right. With stealth and skill he picked the lock and peeked inside. He turned back and looked at Nuraya with a wide grin. Pushing the door wide open, he revealed a cache of coin and chests. With haste, everyone filled their pockets and pack. Oghren praised the stone and fisted the coin in the air maniacally.

"Aye! Topsiders should not leave their pretty little things lying around."

"Okay, let's get on with releasing Anora." Nuraya heaved open Howe's door and braced herself for what lay on the other side.

Howe's lavish private quarters were empty, yet unsettling. They spread out and did a sweep of the room, pocketing anything of value. In the corner of a sitting area she spied a chest and attempted to open it. Realizing it was locked, she called out to Zevran and he gladly jimmied the tumblers and within seconds opened the lid.

"There you go, my dear Warden."

The chest was empty save a bundle of papers. She picked them up and studied the seals, hoping for a sign of the sender. They bore the Grey Warden heraldry. The script on the front, although inked by a practiced hand, was in no language she could recognize. Alistair looked over her shoulder.

"It's a Warden cipher. Probably from Orlais."

"Did Duncan teach you how to decode these messages?"

"Unfortunately, no."

She tucked the letters into her pack and hoped that someday she would meet the sender, or learn of their secrets.

"It appears that Howe prefers to hide in the bowels of his estate." Nuraya headed down a ramp leading to what she assumed was a dungeon. Howe, she surmised, had a pension for torture.

Turning a corner, a guard demanded them to halt. Quickly, she brought the paralysis spell to the front of her mind. Oghren and Alistair had become accustom to her strategy and were ready to move in and take down their opponent. She raised her hand and was about to release the pressure, when the strangest thing occurred. An arm from a nearby cell reached under the guard's neck and with a swift pull, incapacitated him. The guard collapsed to the floor and was dragged inside the cell. Nuraya turned and looked at her companions in alarm.

The mysterious attacker, reached for the guard's key, opened his cell and stepped into the hall. With his hands behind his back, he looked at Nuraya and nodded.

"Thank-you for creating the distraction, stranger. I have been waiting days for such an opportunity." The stranger approached Alistair. "Alistair! Is that really you?"

Alistair stepped forward. "I remember you! You were at my Joining, but I am afraid I don't remember your name."

The stranger turned to Nuraya and bowed respectfully. "And you are the Warden Duncan spoke of recruiting. I've already heard tales of your exploits, Warden. I am Riordan, senior Warden of Jader, but born and bred in Highever and glad to be home."

"Surely, this has been a rather distressing homecoming," Nuraya composed herself. "How did Arl Howe capture you?"

"With an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice. I was fool enough to think that Loghain did not yet know who I was."

"Pardoning my forwardness, I am surprised that Loghain did not have you killed. It's becoming more apparent how closely aligned he is with Howe." In the back of her mind, she wondered if Anora was really being held against her will.

"Why he spared me, is a very good question, and that I cannot determine the answer to at the moment. I can only assume that I served some greater purpose to him alive. The Wardens in Orlais anxiously awaited word from Cailan regarding the outcome at Ostagar. The King had invited all the Wardens from Orlais and their support troops to join him, but his messages never arrived."

Nuraya brightened. "You were amassing a force to fight the Blight? How many?"

"We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. We first learned of Loghain's edict at the border and of course learned that he had blamed the Wardens for the massacre. We decided it was safest to send a single envoy, to learn how to stop the Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Fereldan, I volunteered to make the crossing."

"How soon can we bring word for them to come? The Archdemon is almost upon us!"

"The other Wardens won't risk their strength fighting the civil war. If they become embroiled in fighting Loghain's forces, then there is truly no hope for the Blight. If Ferelden is too foolish to save itself, at least we'll be ready when the Archdemon leads its forces across the Waking Sea. Besides, I hear that you have not been doing badly at raising an army yourself. But perhaps if the edict can be lifted, I will send a message as soon as we are gone from this place."

Nuraya thought of the documents and reached in her bag. "I assume these belong to you then."

"Ah, yes. Howe confiscated these. Such relief they were not destroyed. These are the names of the dead I could recognize at Ostagar, Duncan's recruitment records and copies of the Joining ritual I took from the Denerim vault."

"The Joining ritual! Can we now induct other Grey Wardens?"

"It is a logical question, for Ferelden is in dire need of numbers. For the Joining to work, the recruit not only needs fresh Darkspawn blood but a drop preserved from an Archdemon. Ferelden's supply should have been in the vault, but it was gone. I can only assume that Loghain got his hands on it and either confiscated or destroyed it."

"The depths of Loghain's depravity become more and more apparent. Why don't you join us, Riordan? I am sure you have some unfinished business with Howe." Nuraya asked.

"Alas, I have been imprisoned and tortured. I am in no state to continue."

"Then I suggest that you find your way to Arl Eamon's estate. It serves as our base of operations in Denerim. I'm sure he'd make you feel welcome." Alistair offered.

Riordan nodded.

Nuraya approached Riordan. "And where can we find Howe?"

"I saw him go into the dungeon. He may still be there. Make haste."

Nuraya placed her hands on his chest and inhaled deeply. She drew in every bruise, abrasion and sprain from his body. Her hands tingled and became very warm. The injuries appeared in her mind and she flung them away.

Riordan smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Much obliged. I will see you at Arl Eamon's then. And good luck sister." Riordan nodded respectfully and took the stairs to the main floor. She hoped that he would make it back to Eamon's safely.

Nuraya reached into her pack for a vial of lyrium. She downed the icy metallic liquid to replenish her reserves.

"I need a moment." Nuraya pulled off the helmet and shook her hair free. With her pack, she marched into Riordan's cell and changed into her robes and light armor. No more hiding. She was going to face Howe as herself. Before leaving, she touched the young guard's neck. His pulse was weak. She imagined the rune to drain his life force. There was not much there, but it offered him a quick death.

"Come, we have rats to exterminate."

~0oOo0~

There was no pleasure in killing Howe. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his eyes stared vacantly. Even after taunting her about not deserving freedom, his death brought no satisfaction. He was no one to her really—just someone in her way. And now he was one less ally with coin to support Loghain. It was killing his mage that brought her satisfaction.

He was a gangly and bald man and mocked her as she swung Galdorbryne, spitting vicious names that she was a disappointment to her class, that she did not deserve a connection to the Fade. His ashen, drawn skin suggested that he had not seen the sun for months. With long, boney fingers, he aimed his magic at her sword, attempting to pry it from her grip. With a back-handed swing, she lunged, eager to slice open his pale, skinny neck. Just as her steel swept near, he trapped her in a paralysis spell. Completely immobile, she could only watch as he conjured blood magic against her, each sending sickening shocks through her body. Her eyes were glued open, her fingers splayed, but her thoughts still kept up with the fight. If she had the ability to smile she would have, when she watched Zevran approach from behind and pull his knife across the mage's throat. Immediately, she was released from his trap and dashed to the pile of robes on the floor.

"I thought you would enjoy the pleasure of the finale, my dear Warden." Zevran sheathed his daggers and pulled out his bow to aim at the remaining guards across the room. She stepped over the mage. Gasping for breath, he looked up at her in terror. He licked the blood from his lips and spat, drew a laboured breath and laughed. It first erupted as a gurgle but progressed into a repetitive and psychotic rattle.

"To the Void with you. You hardly deserve a quick death." Nuraya cursed, spit in his face and then plunged her sword deep into his chest.

Her companions maintained their frenetic pace through the Howe dungeons, eventually finding their way back to Anora's room. Zevran completed a quick reconnaissance mission and reported back numbers when they arrived on the main floor.

"The hallway is clear, however, there is a large contingent in the main hall. There is chaos of course, as the guards have learned that their master is dead. Some may flee for safety. But many will remain loyal to their employer."

"Wait for me outside of the hall." She handed each of her companions a small vial of a viscous solution. "Take this once I cast the spell. Be careful, it will burn going down."

"Like a fine whiskey! I can only hope it will have the same effect." Oghren grabbed the vial from Nuraya and drank. He smacked his lips with satisfaction and Nuraya almost expected him to request another.

Against the wall, she tiptoed to the hall entrance. With each step she brought the hexagonal prism in her mind, clearly recognizing the runes on each facet. A cacophony of discordant music raged in her mind, as each key resonated at full pitch. She stood in the doorway. Guards screamed for her capture and death. She held out her hand and released the intense pressure that she had built in her mind. As they attacked, she ignited the room and listened for their anguish and rage. She unsheathed Galdorbryne and prepared to defend herself against the first guard to charge. Stepping aside, she allowed Alistair and Oghren to pass.

"Your foul beverage better work, Warden." Oghren growled.

"I'll buy the first round when we get back to the Gnawed Noble!" She called, advancing on a badly burned guard and thrust the end of the blade to the vulnerable space between his helmet and chest plate. Alistair stepped forward, to act as her shield and took the brunt of the coming assault. When she sensed his energy dwindling, she propped the entire company with a rejuvenation spell. She had spent enough time in battle with Alistair to know that his left knee trembled slightly when he was beginning to tire. He turned to wink at her and with renewed vigor rammed three guards with his shield. From behind, she heard Oghren cuss with each swing of his axe. When his corner turned quiet, she knew he required assistance. And as long as arrows sailed in her periphery, she knew that Zevran stood firm.

Zevran called to the company to make for a staircase at the end of the hall. Nuraya inflicted a virulent walking bomb to seal the fate of the remaining guard, already weakened and on the verge of surrender. Up a staircase they dashed and headed for the doorway. The seal was broken and a small statured woman stepped out in Howe's guard armor. Nuraya bit her tongue as she watched the Queen awkwardly shuffle into the hall, obviously unaccustomed to bearing the weight of the plate armor. She wished Anora would remove her helmet, as she wanted to take a better look at her half-sister. Nuraya was well aware that this was not the time or the place to contemplate her heritage.

"My thanks," Anora said, and shuffled behind a bemused Oghren. Nuraya almost hoped that he would say something inappropriate on her behalf, but he seemed to understand the necessity of decorum in the presence of royalty.

"Aren't you a little short for a guard?" Nuraya asked, slyly.

"Very funny. We must go quickly and avoid notice. If Howe's people find me, I'll be killed. And my people will insist on escorting me back to the palace…where my father may also have me killed."

"Can you bear arms? Are you able to defend yourself if you're attacked?" Nuraya asked.

"I had not considered that. I trust that you have subdued Howe's guard?"

"Pardon me your Highness, but I think what our Warden friend is implying is that you should have a plan in the event of a worse-case scenario."

"Zevran is right, Your Highness." Nuraya stepped forward and sifted through her pack. "Someone pass me a satchel." Zevran handed her a leather bag that Anora could swing over her shoulders. Nuraya filled it with incendiary bombs, freeze bombs, shock bombs and poison flasks as well as some healing potions. She held the device in front of Anora.

"If you are confronted and we aren't able to cover you, throw this and run in the opposite direction." She pointed to the bomb's fuse. "You must pull this first. And take heed, if any of us are in the general vicinity, we will also feel the effects, so throw carefully." Part of Nuraya hoped that she was not handing Anora a weapon that could be used against her.

"Fuse pull, throw. Right. I think I've got it."

Oghren stepped forward and passed her a dagger. "And this is for a last resort Your Highness." Nuraya was shocked at his politeness and recalled how he called her "magey" when they first met. Anora held the foreign object and vexed at it.

"When you're in a jam m'lady, just aim for the groin."

Alistair and Nuraya's eyes widened in horror and chastised Oghren.

"I may be Queen, but I am not above getting dirty and lending a hand when needed. Please, let us make haste, and pray to the Maker that I do not need to test my mettle."

"I will cover you, your Highness. And please, if you see an exit, please run and make for Arl Eamon's estate." Nuraya said. She led them toward the exit, too focused in the moment to even bother marvelling that she just instructed her half-sister how to throw a bomb. Zevran lurked ahead of the company to investigate. Their route was clear and Nuraya spied the front entrance. Could this task be so easy?

The door opened and a large contingent of Loghain's guard filed in. Nuraya turned to Anora and whispered. "Not a word, or they will return you to your father."

Anora grasped Nuraya's arm in an obvious act of desperation. "Please stay close, Warden."

"I will guard this entrance. Stay back in that alcove until I give the all clear."

"Maker be with you, Warden."

Nuraya approached Cauthrien defiantly.

"Warden, in the name of the Regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms. Surrender and you may be shown mercy."

Nuraya turned to look at her companions. Their steely expressions assured her.

"You will have to claim our dead bodies first."

~0oOo0~

The tips of her fingers curled with smoke. To offer relief, she cast an ice spell at the three guards attacking her. Loghain's guards were unrelenting. Nuraya struggled to maintain her ground and barely seemed to accomplish that. Focusing on as many defensive spells as she could manage, she had yet to draw her sword. She needed lyrium. Using the last of what remained within her, she projected mind blast, hoping to gain the spare second she needed to reach inside her robe. So close, yet so far. These Guards were brutes and merely stepped back to brace themselves from the force she hurled at them. Seizing her sword, she defended their attacks while blasting them with flame. And that was it. She had no more reserves and was forced to rely solely on Galdorbryne.

Backed into the doorway, she shielded the sweep of their assault with back handed defensive strikes and furiously she worked to resist. A shield caught the side of her jaw and she flew to the floor. Determined to regain her ground, her stubbornness took over and she refused to submit. A girlish grunt from behind caught her attention and she heard the clink of a bomb tumble in front of her. Scrambling to her knees, she gathered her wits and frantically crawled down the hall. Covering her head and ears, she felt the heat of the explosion singe her back. Shaking, she pulled out the largest vial of lyrium she carried and poured the contents down her throat and sucked back a health potion for good measure. She jumped to her feet to greet a very stunned Anora staring at the carnage she had just inflicted. Nuraya winked and returned to the fray.

Without hesitation, she conjured healing for her entire company, but her efforts where somewhat in vain. Zevran and Alistair lay in a heap. Oghren, still cursing and swinging his axe was able to take down a guard flanking Cauthrien. In return, Cauthrien saw her moment and knocked out the dwarf with the end of her pommel. Nuraya swallowed more lyrium and evoked the paralysis rune and keys in her mind. She was more than determined to eliminate the last obstacle that stood between her and the door. To her utter disappointment, she realized that Cauthrien must have been wearing some form of enchantment that repelled her incantation. _When all else fails, throw a fireball_. She could see the exhaustion and strain on the woman's face, and held her palm forward, pushing flame and closed in. Nuraya rallied, swung at the woman arm, and sliced open a seeping wound.

Breaking from her shell, she cursed Nuraya, "Filthy murdering mage! Loghain told me to bring you back alive, but I'll bring him your tainted head!"

She lashed back with her weapon and landed a blow to Nuraya's leg, forcing her to the ground. Cauthrien stood above her and pointed the sword to her throat.

"This will bring me great pleasure, spineless blood-mage!" Cauthrien grinned widely and held her sword with both hands, aimed for Nuraya's neck and raised the weapon to provide maximum momentum. Nuraya's first instinct was the close her eyes but she stared at Cauthrien, refusing any gesture of surrender. Cauthrien inhaled sharply and crumpled to the ground.

Anora stood in terror and stared at her bloodied hands. She dropped the dagger and shook her hands in panic. Nuraya listened to it clatter on the stone and watched as it ceased to move. Nuraya jumped to her feet, sifted through her pack and tossed some health potions to the Queen.

"Let's wake the boys and then get the blast out of here." Nuraya kneeled at Alistair. He had a gash on his forehead and suspected some deeper wounds. His eyes flashed opened and he groaned. She performed a cursory healing spell to revive him and got him to his feet.

"Get up and get running," she instructed. She did the same for Zevran while Anora assisted Oghren. Together they dashed out the door and made their way through the back alleys of Denerim to Arl Eamon's estate.

* * *

_Bioware owns all, except for Nuraya. She's all mine. Tip of the hat to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider - my intrepid Betas, ensuring my conjugations for the verb lie and lay are caught. I swear its my accent that must trip me up. Also they are keen to Canon and keep the story aligned. Very clever authours, please go check out Kira's "What Once was Ours" and Doorbell's "True Ferelden Fashion". Don't be afraid to share some of your own favorites - I am always on the lookout for new stories to enjoy. :) And speaking of which, again, thanks for stopping by and checking up on Nuraya's progress. No one likes being mired in sub-plots. At least this was my feeling. I thought the Drakon prison scene would be too much of a deviation and so I opted to skip it. Nuraya has a couple more loose ends to tie up before the Landsmeet. Stay tuned for **Chapter 17: The Joining**. _


	17. Chapter 17: The Joining

The walls were beginning to close in around her. Either they were solving Denerim's problems in the desperate hope of gaining wider acceptance amongst the nobles, or they were languishing in boredom within the protected walls of the Arl's estate, waiting for the Landsmeet. Arl Eamon reassured Nuraya that he was still waiting for the outlying families to arrive, and expected to convene the Landsmeet in a day or so. In the meantime, they managed to break up a slaver ring in the Alienage and discovered that Loghain was behind it. Not that Nuraya was surprised.

While they were in the estate, Nuraya endeavored to avoid Anora altogether. After escaping Howe's, she escorted her back to the estate and delivered her to Erlina and a handful of capable servants. Understandably shaken, Anora was sequestered in a more privileged area of the estate. Although desperately curious, Nuraya kept her distance. She was too afraid of inadvertently revealing herself, her story. It always seemed to be at the leading edge of her consciousness and on the tip of her tongue.

She often found herself on the balcony, watching the birds. There were plenty of pigeons and rooks wheeling around the sky and roosting in the eaves, but she had not yet spotted a thrush. None appeared on her rail. _Does no one care?_ She started to worry. Perhaps she placed too much trust in the Mages Collective. Nothing was ever certain. Even on this dull afternoon, the inevitability of the Blight seemed debatable.

Just as she settled back into her thoughts to untangle them, strand by stand, a tiny brown bird fluttered and landed on the foot she had propped on the balcony rail. At times like these, she allowed herself to believe that her role in these events was more profound than coincidental. Staring in the bird's black beaded eye, she dared not move, while at the same time wondered who would make the first move. She wished she had asked Kalvindir what she was supposed to do. She recalled that he whispered, but she was never able to determine whether it was in the common tongue, or in some esoteric bird-speak.

"Hello little one. Have you a message?"

With a slight flutter, the thrush perched on her knee, lifted a wing and pulled out a tiny roll of vellum within its beak. It dropped its gift and flew across the courtyard. _Well, that was certainly easier than I expected. _She unrolled the paper and read the message.

_Escape. See you soon. Anders._

Anders! She had not given her friend much thought since leaving Kinloch Hold. Did this mean he had managed to evade the templars? Was he already in the city? Obviously he had some connections to the Mages Collective. No doubt the Chantry would relentlessly hunt him down. Selfishly, she hoped that he did not appear in Denerim before the Landsmeet. The last thing she needed was Loghain learning that she was conspiring with an escapee. Maybe her plan to use the Mage's Collective was ill-conceived. Then, she remembered something that Morrigan said to her months ago: _Failure is better than regret_.

The sun dipped below the Denerim skyline, painting the gathering clouds in billowing daubs of magenta and ash. She decided that she had brooded long enough. Alistair had made himself scare for the past two days and had taken to spending long hours with Eamon. She wondered if he had spoken with Anora. The whole politicking and noble scene wore on her patience. She tightened her laces, collected her coin purse and headed for Alistair's room across the hall. After there was no reply on the second knock, she peeked inside, hoping to find him napping. His room was dark and empty and she assumed he was out with his uncle. Eamon was most likely filling his head with all kinds of rubbish that mages were unfit to rule, citing some superficial Chantry edict.

Deciding to leave the estate for a few hours, she made her way further down the hall and rapped on the door. From inside, she heard a muffled belch and an invitation.

Sticking her head inside, she asked "I am heading down to the Gnawed Noble, want to come?"

"Aye! Fresh ale is always a good plan. Let's get out of this sodding hole."

Lately, she had discovered a new found appreciation for the dwarf. He at least wanted to wander aimlessly about the city unlike Morrigan, who had lately taken to her own quarters to study her new grimoire. Her obsessive focus on unraveling the meaning of this text made her rather inaccessible. Sten, although a dependable companion, was not, on the other hand, interested in companionship. Nuraya allowed Wynne her rest; she was about as comfortable in a tavern as an elf was in the alienage. And of course, Zev and Lel had their own business to attend, of which she kept her nose out. Oghren had no agenda. His was exactly the type of company she required this evening.

Leaving through training yard, she informed the on-duty guard of their destination, in case Alistair panicked that she went chasing the Archdemon on her own.

"So Warden, what sorrows do you want to drown?"

"No sorrows. Just getting out of that closet we call a room. If I stay in there too long it reminds me of the tower."

"You topsiders. What's with all this Circle rubbish? Sounds like a fancy pants name for a prison, if you ask me."

"I'd have to agree. If you want the party line, go talk to Leliana."

"Sodding Maker-worshipper. I'd rather be explored by a deep stalker."

She laughed heartily. It was so refreshing to find someone who did not become all reverent and serious at the name of the Maker. And such went their conversation as they walked to the city square and sauntered into tavern.

Nuraya purchased two flagons of a hearty stout, stood in a corner with Oghren and enjoyed the earthy bitterness of the beer. From the corner of her eye, she caught a waving hand. Through the drifting haze of smoldering tobacco, she looked around to ensure the signal was intended for her. Finally, she pointed to herself and received an acknowledgement. Oghren was deep in discussion with a dwarven merchant anyway.

Telari Cousland seemed less threatening when alone. Nuraya smiled graciously and took a seat with her.

"Such a surprise to see you here alone, m'lady." Nuraya said.

The glow of the lantern caught Telari's friendly expression. "Please, no need for formalities. I no longer have a title."

"Have you not heard the news then?" Nuraya asked, enjoying another sip and licking the foamy head from the top of her lip.

"News? Pray, I have been holed up at Bann Loren's residence for Maker knows how long. No one tells me anything, for fear of me becoming hysterical."

"Well, I believe I have some good news, for a change. Howe is no longer Arl of Denerim, and certainly not the Teryn of Highever. I suspect that Loghain has kept his death from the rest of the nobility for fear of raising suspicions. Perhaps it is an angle he intends on using at the Landsmeet."

"Indeed! This truly is wonderful news! Please tell me everything." Over a few more flagons she told the entire story to the new Teyrna of Highever.

"Once the Blight is no longer a threat, I shall have you at the castle and bestow our honours upon you and your companions."

"M'lady, you assume that all will turn in my favor."

"Howe and Cauthrien were formidable foes. I have faith in you. And please, call me Telari, there shall be no formalities between us as I am deeply in your debt. And what of your other companion?"

Nuraya turned to see Oghren slapping his knee in uncontrollable laughter.

"He joined us in Orzammar. Goes by Oghren."

"Oghren? No, I was meaning Ser Alistair. Is he in your company this evening?"

Nuraya didn't feel quite so open to that question. She wished she could erect a wall around herself and Alistair, to prevent any further incursions or usurpers.

"He's with Arl Eamon this evening." She begged whatever power was listening, save a desperate demon, to prevent Telari from sending him a message or requesting to come call some afternoon for a formal sitting of high tea.

"I can tell he means a great deal to you." For a fleeting second, she wondered if Telari possessed the rare ability to read people's minds. That prospect frightened Nuraya terribly.

"And how were you able to determine this?" Nuraya asked, folding her arms and sitting back in the bench.

"I know what it's like to publically deny a fondness for someone for the sake of propriety. I'm sorry to think I have become somewhat of an expert about it, actually."

Nuraya had no idea what might have tipped Telari off regarding her feelings about Alistair. If they were that obvious, perhaps it was best they not appear together in public at all.

"If the other nobles were to learn of us, the outcome of the Landsmeet might become seriously compromised. I ask you to keep this in strict confidence."

"I've heard whispers among Bann Loren's staff that Alistair is Maric's son. Is this true?"

Nuraya took a deep breath and nodded.

Telari smiled slyly and said, "Loghain would want nothing more than to learn that Maric's surviving son had taken up with a mage."

Nuraya scowled and Telari assuaged her with a gentle touch on the hand.

"I bear no ill-will towards the mages. In fact, after learning all that you have accomplished after becoming a Grey Warden, I would hope that many Fereldans will question the policy of the Chantry."

"You speak heresy. I would not be so free with those thoughts." Nuraya said.

"And where was the Chantry when Howe murdered my parents and claimed our lands? The Chantry blessed his bestowment. I owe the Chantry nothing."

Suddenly, Nuraya's mind churned again. _A noble opposed to the Chantry? This could perhaps be a fortuitous meeting. _

"You spoke of your need to conceal a relationship. Can I ask if this person is a mage?"

Nuraya asked. Telari darkened, immediately causing Nuraya to regret her prying.

"No, he wasn't. He died some months ago."

"Oh… I am so sorry to hear that…The loss you have suffered is extraordinary."

"He died at Ostagar," she kept talking, faraway in a distant memory, not hearing Nuraya's consolations.

"Ostagar! I may have met him."

"I suspect with a great deal of certainty that you did Warden. He was also a Grey Warden."

Nuraya furrowed her brow and looked at Telari quizzically.

"You knew him well, he was the one who brought you there."

"Duncan!" Nuraya whispered incredulously. She did not expect this at all. Her mind raced to recall any hint or clue he may have inadvertently revealed to perhaps offer Telari one last memory of his love for her.

"Someday, Warden, I hope that you'll accompany me to Ostagar so we can provide him with the honour he deserves."

"I think Alistair has been planning such a trek once the Landsmeet and the Blight are over. I owe everything to Duncan. Did you know of my connection to Duncan?"

"Other than recruiting you from the Circle, no. Please share. I don't wish to dwell on his death. I prefer to celebrate his life."

"Before that, I have to be frank. Wasn't he a little old for you?"

Telari grinned and then dropped her head. "Oh yes, the age difference and his position with the Grey Wardens had the potential to create quite a scandal at Highever, and with the rest of the nobles. My parents were trying to arrange a more appropriate marriage for me. Of course, I wanted no part of it. I preferred the training yard over the stuffiness of formal gatherings."

Nuraya raised an eyebrow. Telari was full of surprises. "And your weapon of choice?"

Telari grinned, appearing grateful for the question. "I have considerable skill with a bow. My parents hoped it was a passing phase. Fergus trained me in secret and also learned of my relationship with Duncan. He caught me one day trying to sneak to our meeting spot. He promised to keep our secret, but made me vow to not reveal it to anyone. It was my hope to have Duncan recruit me into the Wardens. I think Fergus got to him and talked him out of it. You were saying you knew of Duncan before he recruited you?"

"No, never laid eyes on him before he arrived at the Circle. I recently learned that my father, Maldwyn Amell, was a friend of Duncan's. He took Duncan under his wing when he was younger."

"Maldwyn Amell! I know of that name. I never thought to put the two names together. My father spoke very fondly of his smith. Always sorry that he left Highever. And is your father still…" Telari stumbled on her words. Nuraya offered a smile.

"He is well and living in Dungarven. Duncan asked my father's permission to recruit me into the Wardens."

"So our lives are connected in the most interesting ways. I'm glad then that we've had this chance to talk. Just the two of us." Telari smiled.

Her mistrust of Telari and assumptions about her intentions completely dissolved. She had not met many women her age who were not all consumed with magic or romance. Nuraya finished the dregs of her beer and decided to lay out everything on the table. Keeping her secrets was slowing driving her to madness, and she desperately wanted to reach out and have someone acknowledge this weight she struggled to bear. Given that Telari trusted her enough to reveal her own, she decided to take a similar risk.

"There is more to this story, between my father and Duncan." Nuraya proceeded to tell her everything that her father told her. Telari's eyes widened when she told her of her birth parents.

"Maker preserve us." Telari whispered in astonishment.

"You are the first soul I have told, I beg you that this must absolutely remain secret. Alistair cannot know this. He cannot have knowledge of this, not until the Landsmeet has decided. I've spread my story to the Mages Collective and hope to use the connection to our benefit, to help sway the outcome of the Landsmeet, to find some sort of justice for the mages."

"Well, that is a tall order, my friend."

Nuraya smiled warmly and appreciated the sentiment.

"All I can do is try. Defeating the Archdemon will only result in my own personal pain, if it does not kill me first. You no doubt, know how the Chantry will respond when they learn that the King of Ferelden is with a _mage_. I'll need a distraction, a challenge to focus on once I have to leave Alistair."

Telari frowned in acknowledgement. "Then can I offer some advice, from someone who has suffered the same pain?"

"Of course. I've been trying to work through this on my own, and not having much success, frankly."

"Enjoy every single moment you have with him. Just because you have no future does not diminish the love you now share. Take solace in it, let it nourish you. The pain of your separation may seem unbearable, but don't let it define you. Bitterness and resentment will breed weakness, the same as it has done with Loghain."

They talked long into the evening, Nuraya would have stayed until dawn, but noticed that the patrons were leaving and the barmaids were cleaning the tables. When their empty flagons were removed, Telari stood and smoothed out her gown.

"Begging your forgiveness, Nuraya, I really must return to Bann Loren's before they send out a search party."

"Please, allow me to escort you. It is on our way back to Eamon's."

The women collected Oghren and headed through Denerim together. The streets were quiet and Loghain's men were nowhere to be seen. At the gates of Bann Loren's Denerim residence, Nuraya bid Telari a fond farewell.

"Please, come and visit, I'd greatly appreciate your company." Telari placed a fond hand on Nuraya's back.

'Indeed, I will. Feel free to come to Eamon's and take advantage of his training yard."

~0oOo0~

With great relief, Erlina met her in the front hall.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Warden. My Queen has been insisting on meeting with you. I am afraid that she won't take no for an answer."

"Good thing you have primed up with a little ale, eh Warden? Nothing like a loose tongue when talking politics." Oghren elbowed her a few times and laughed.

"Very well, Erlina. Lead the way." And she followed Anora's elven attendant up the grand staircase. She looked down at Oghren and offered him a sardonic look, involving eye rolling and rude hand gestures. Perhaps this was not the best moment to meet with Anora, but the stout has washed away any prior reservations.

In the doorway, Erlina curtsied to her mistress.

"Warden Amell, Your Highness."

Anora stood before the fire in consternation. Without turning, she said, "Thank-you. That will be all, Erlina. When the Warden takes her leave, you will prepare me for the night."

Erlina curtsied and acknowledged the task. Nuraya wondered if Erlina had truly accepted her servitude or was merely acting out of fear of reprisal. Bowing down to authority had become a practice that Nuraya grew to loathe.

Anora turned. For the first time, Nuraya was able to assess her kin. Only a few years older, the Queen must have taken after her mother. She was lithe, polished and finely featured. The shape of her eyes and bone structure around her cheeks was undeniably shared. The only major difference was that Anora was radiant and fair, where Nuraya was dark like her father.

"Warden Amell. I have not yet had the opportunity to thank you for your daring rescue."

"I am glad that Howe did not harm you. I trust Eamon is treating you well."

"Given the circumstances, yes. I am safe and well-guarded. Begging your pardon, have we met before?" Nuraya noticed how Anora scrutinized her keenly.

"No, Your Highness."

"Father asked the same thing of me after his last conversation with you. I can now see why." Her voice trailed off in thought. Nuraya was bursting with the desire to throw her connection to her in her face, but managed to restrain herself.

"I see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come. It is you that Alistair and Eamon listen to, and with good reason. My father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne."

Nuraya wanted to laugh out loud. How little Anora knew of her efforts to connive and convince Alistair to become king.

Nuraya crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. "Are you proposing an alliance?"

"That is exactly what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne. You will be seen as my father's enemy, yet you will be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests if Ferelden as opposed to merely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see? Together we can do what alone we cannot."

"An alliance you say? A novel idea. And tell me, what is her Highness' current policy toward the mages? I cannot enter into such a compact without knowing the other party's stance on the matter."

Anora crossed her arms, walked over to her desk and fingered some papers on top. "I have no policy on such matters. I allow the Chantry to do their job." Anora's lack of eye contact and expression hinted toward the answer Nuraya already knew.

"Then, you might find it interesting that your father has a history of consorting with Blood Mages. How might the Chantry look upon that?"

"He will have to answer to the Chantry for his crimes."

Nuraya sensed that this discussion was making Anora uncomfortable. She wished she could ask her directly why.

"Maric's boys are charming aren't they?" Anora said, "And happiest when they have a woman to dote upon, is that why you support him? I'll be honest that the Landsmeet won't look favourably upon Alistair when they discover he is involved with a mage. And you think this is what Alistair actually wants? To be King? If so, then he has changed. I'll add with caution and reservation that Ferelden will always wonder if there is a Theirin mage bastard about, however. You will always be hunted." Anora glared at Nuraya intensely. "Think of the political scandal that will cause. My position on the throne creates a good deal of stability for Ferelden. My people need not worry about mages creating instability within the Chantry. You need to think of the bigger picture, Warden."

"If I were you, I would not feel so secure in knowing the Mac Tir line is free of magic." Nuraya crossed her arms, insulted at Anora's patronizing. No matter how hard she tried, she felt no connection toward her. Knowing that Loghain was her father meant nothing either. They were just words.

"Our line has been clean of magic for seven generations!" The word _clean_ spoke volumes to Nuraya. Her mind was made.

"Not anymore your Highness. Ferelden needs to be concerned with the Mac Tir mage bastard. And please, begging your pardon, I must take my leave. It has been a long evening, and you need your rest." Nuraya backed slowly out the door.

Anora called out for further clarification but Nuraya bowed and closed the door as she spoke. Rude yes, but it was the most politically safe gesture she could afford at this time.

~0oOo0~

The discussion with Anora emboldened Nuraya. Of course the Queen's comments were disgusting, but they were not unexpected. A smug satisfaction had come over her. Leaving Anora slightly unhinged was just the effect she had hoped for. Allowing her mind to flit from thought to thought, she thought of her discussion with Telari Cousland. Her advice also weighed heavily on her that evening.

She desperately missed camping outside the confines of the city, when she and Alistair could focus on the task at hand or on each other. It was really that simple, no matter how complicated she construed their situation at the time. She also missed being the centre and focus of his attention. Whether or not Alistair had completely accepted the idea of being King, he was now consumed with the political machinations plaguing Ferelden. How she was able to acknowledge the good of this, at the expense of her own heart, she was not sure.

Preparing for bed, she stripped to her smalls and decided to heed Telari's words. She removed them as well, and stood completely naked and pulled her robe around herself and headed across the hallway.

Alistair sat at a small table, his hand on his brow, straining to read a document in the dim candlelight. He looked up, and smiled. Signs of weariness pulled beneath his eyes. Holding the robe tightly around herself, she stepped in the room, locking the door behind her.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"Just reading some official trade documents that Eamon gave to me. He wants me to start adjusting to official life. No one told me that being king would be so bloody dull. Where were you?"

She started to feel ridiculous and held her robe even tighter. "Oghren and I went to the Gnawed. Had an interesting conversation with Telari Cousland."

His eyes returned to the parchment in front of him and replied distantly. "Is that so?"

Taking a deep breath, she decided to go through with her plan. If all else failed she could go back to her room and tend to her wounded ego. Perhaps this was the beginning of his retreat and he decided to initiate it much sooner than she had hoped. She uncrossed her arms and let her robe flutter open. Alistair continued to read.

"Bear with me. I don't want to have to read this over again."

Nuraya cleared her throat. Without looking up, he pointed to a chair. Nuraya coughed lightly, trying to mask an erupting giggle. Alistair looked up. She followed his gaze down to her navel and saw her intentions slowly sink in. She approached him slowly, took his hand and guided him to his bed. He had already forgotten about the trade documents. His mouth was ardent and searching over hers.

Climbing onto his lap, she straddled him, nudging her groin over his. The sensation of being so close to him again, compelled her to push forward even closer. He stopped and gazed at her, his eyes, wide with astonishment. His hands slowly and delicately, explored her arms and pushed the robe from her shoulders. Resuming their mission, his fingers brushed lightly over her sensitive regions. Massaging her lower back, he kissed the dark centers of her breasts, eliciting a deep and lingering exhale from her. Arched her back in response, she wanted to feel his warmth against her skin and pulled his shirt over his head, leaving his hair mussed. He lowered her to the bed, and continued to explore her mouth deeply with his.

"This shall be our night then," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled and coursed her fingers through his hair, down his arms, his back and began to unlace the tops of his breeches, grasping what lay beneath the folds of cotton. Now completely entwined and naked, they searched each other, slowly and tentatively at first. When a sensitive region was discovered, they focused upon the area with fervid purpose. Taking their time, their fingers danced over flesh until she could no longer bear her yearning. She drew him into her and groaned as their union deepened. Staring into her eyes, he smiled and kissed her, covering her with his body. She wanted to merge, to minimize all space between them. Synchronizing with his movement, convulsions of pleasure rippled through her entire body. Gently touching his face, she kissed him sweetly and whispered her love for him.

~0oOo0~

She heard Alistair sneaking back in the room. Turning over, she wiped her eyes and glanced out the window. Dawn was beginning to break. Alistair carried a tray of food, wearing only his breeches. She slept hardly at all that night and wouldn't regret the exhaustion that would claim her later that day. Settling back in bed, he placed the tray of fruit, cheese and biscuits between them. He poured her a cup of tea.

"Eamon's servant informed me that the Landsmeet will convene after luncheon. I asked that we not be disturbed until then."

Nuraya sighed heavily and pushed her hair off her forehead. Alistair offered her a piece of pear dipped in soft cheese and her lips slowly and meaningfully accepted.

"No more planning, no more scheming or contriving until we leave this room, promise?" he asked, resuming his position beside her and stroked her arm and what else lie hidden by the coverlet.

"If you insist, You Highness." Propping herself on her elbow, her free hand traced the smoothness of his chest.

"Oh, and none of that either."

She laughed heartily and they enjoyed their meal together. As happy as she was at this moment, part of her could not help but wonder if it would be their last. She struggled to stay within the moment, to keep her thoughts focused on her friend, the man who, despite his training, was able to see beyond the propaganda and appreciate who she was and even love her despite it. She recognized the deepness of his generosity. Were it not for her incessant urging, he would be forever a Grey Warden and would be more than content to leave the bitterness of Ferelden just to be with her. She was not lost on this irony. For the rest of their morning, they took pleasure in their indolence; they made love and talked of nothing of significance until it was time to prepare for the Landsmeet.

* * *

_Bioware owns all. Thanks her Lady betaships Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider. I prostrate to your efforts and edits. Did you notice the change in the story image? To my utter delight, DoorbellSpider, completed an amazing illustration of Nuraya. I linked to it in my profile, definitely go check out the original size. The drawing is brilliant and has included so many clever little references to In Her Minds Eye. Thank-you again! And of course, for everyone stopping by to catch up...I appreciate your attention. Is Nuraya ready for the Landsmeet? Stay tuned for **Chapter 18: The Landsmeet.**_


	18. Chapter 18: The Landsmeet

She forced herself to get dressed. Alistair busied himself at the bathing pool; the coming event wore heavily on his face. Slipping on her full regalia, she didn't bother washing up. She had no time. Waltzing into the grand hall to greet every noble of Ferelden smelling of her activities from last night hinted enough of rebellion. Not that she wanted to incite one. No, not yet. This was not the time or place for that.

She stared at his bed thought about the mussed linens. All she really wanted to do was turn back time and relive the previous night over and over again. She approached the pool and tried to focus on the back of this head. He was far too tempting, though.

"I will meet you at the Palace," she announced. The echo of pouring water ceased as she tightened her scabbard's leathers.

"What? I thought we were going together!" He turned to look at her, soap dripped from the side of his face. Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed.

"I have an errand. I won't be late. If I leave now, I'll have plenty of time and meet you outside of the Palace gates so we can arrive together."

"An _errand_? This is the _Landsmeet_ Nuraya. We have been waiting for this moment for months! What could be more important than this?"

"Then you can appreciate how important this errand is. I have no intention of being late. And if I stand another moment in this room, I shall bar the door and never let you out." He managed a lathered grin.

"So when are you going to tell me what you've been up to? This is not going to bite me in the ass sometime this afternoon will it?"

"I am hoping that it will all happen quietly behind the scenes. Now, I must run, or I'll keep you waiting before the Landsmeet." She kissed him on the top of his head.

~0oOo0~

Kalvindir was sitting in his alley reading a book and smoking a pipe. Upon hearing her approach, he looked up, set his book aside and inhaled deeply.

"I was expecting you," he said.

"The birds have not been very talkative." She leaned her shoulder against the building and crossed her arms.

"Oh, they haven't been talking to you, but they've had much to say, indeed."

Nuraya kicked a crate from the corner and sat. Galdorbryne scraped beside her in a pile of rotting wet leaves. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. She absentmindedly kicked around a pile loose stone.

"Please, just let me know if I have any support at all. The Landsmeet convenes in the hour. I wish to have some sense before I stand in front of a room full of nobles and make a complete fool of myself."

Kalvindir leaned forward and whispered. "Many court healers, healers from the Bannorn and from Teryns in every corner of Ferelden have heard your story. We're all tired of the nobility's hypocrisy. Finally, we have something they can rub their sanctimonious little noses in. Being hunted as apostates cannot be our only choice. They see you as a faint whisper of hope. Don't disappoint them."

"My message _worked_? The mages were able to influence the nobility?"

"Let's just say that those that support Loghain will find themselves feeling ill."

"Without blood magic, I hope."

"One does not need poison or demons. We don't really have to heal when asked, do we? Things can progress beyond a mage's control can't they?" Kalvindir winked and smiled smugly. He stretched out, his belly jiggled slightly. From under his robe, he crossed his worn boots.

Nuraya stood and handed Kalvindir a pouch of coin. "I must make for the Palace. Please, take care. I recommend you find safe shelter. I suspect that that Denerim will soon be overrun with Darkspawn in the coming days."

"Every pure-hearted mage has you in their thoughts." He stuck his nose in the coin purse then tucked it into his robe.

"I shall never forget your generosity, Kalvindir."

"Go, make peace with this land. We're behind you."

She hurried out of the alley and dashed back to the Palace. Crowds began to gather and the curious waited outside the gates to learn the fate of their Queen. As she pushed her way through a throng of men, her heart was pounding, in celebration of what she had just learned and in fear of what would transpire. Alistair was pacing nervously.

Wynne elbowed him and said "See! Here she is!"

"Eamon and Teagan went in ahead of us. Telari Cousland is with them." Alistair was clearly relieved that she had not derailed this day of all days. She would not miss this showdown for the world. Today was the day that Ferelden would become better acquainted with Nuraya Amell, mage and Grey Warden. The royal guard eyed the companions suspiciously as he opened the massive wooden doors to the main hall.

The crowd gathered there hushed as the company marched down the carpeted aisle. Nuraya led the way, holding her head high, not making eye contact with anyone, trying to look fierce and confident; the silverite on her breastplate and sword caught the light that filtered from the balcony windows and her robe drifted behind in her wake.

Loghain paced at the front of the hall. She stood at the front of the crowd, folded her arms and waited. Whispers among the gathered revealed how quick tales had spread.

"There she is! The one who killed the witch of the wilds!"

"Our people heard that she has turned to blood magic and controls the mind of Alistair and Arl Eamon!"

"My servants say she broke up a Tevinter slaver ring in the Alienage. People say that Loghain made coin from this."

Most of the proceedings became a blur of words, political posturing and long speeches regarding the fate of Ferelden. She second-guessed all her decisions. She was suddenly afraid of being left alone in the world. The nobles seemed nothing more than a group of unmannered, spoiled, self-indulgent children. Loghain was the worst of all. Did he think that the louder he spoke and the more he condemned the actions of the Grey Wardens that those assembled would suddenly change their minds? On more than one occasion that she would have rather raised her hands in resignation and left the nobles to their bickering selves. She shifted her weight to continue to listen to Loghain claim that the Wardens were merely conspiring with the Orlesians. _Doesn't he realize that convincing Orlais to invade Ferelden again would have been a much simpler task?_ She didn't think there was one noble in this room that could truly appreciate the lengths she had gone to raise the support this country required to challenge the Blight.

"The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais," she said. Her voice echoed clearly though the chamber. She forced herself to glare at Loghain. This was another distraction. Was she going to confront him publically with her secret? Did she dare? At this moment, Nuraya was hoping to survive from one minute to the next. She also decided she did not much like crowds and suffered a great dislike of public speaking. To her surprise, nobles spoke out in support of her statement.

It seemed that Loghain's next strategy was to publically rub her face in the killing of Arl Howe by saying she should have been brought before the Landsmeet for judgment. In the corner of her eye, she caught Telari stand forward and listen intently. Nuraya decided to evade the statement. Both she and Loghain had blood on their hands. It was up to the Landsmeet to decide whose hands had more.

"Then why did you hire a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon?" It was time to expose Loghain's dealings with the mages.

"I assure you Warden, if I were going to send someone, I would send my own soldiers. I would not trust the discretion of an apostate."

From the balcony a Bann spoke up. "Indeed. My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from Chantry justice. Coincidence?" This was of course, no surprise to Nuraya. He did have a history of using blood mages to his advantage after all.

The Grand Cleric stepped forward. "Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teryn Loghain. Interference in a Templar's sacred duty is an offence against the Maker."

"Whatever I have done, I will answer for later." He turned to address the room again. "Does the nobility realize that these entire proceedings are being influenced by blood magic?" He turned to Nuraya and raised an eye brow. The Grand Cleric glowered and her Templar guard postured threateningly.

"I can assure the people of Ferelden that I was recruited with the blessing of the Knight Commander and First Enchanter and refuse to fall to the temptations of blood magic. I was born with and legitimately learned this power that I have wielded against Fereldan enemies and the Darkspawn." She turned to glare at Loghain. "Unlike my _mother_, I have never been forced to use blood magic." It was a risk, but she could resist no longer. Loghain briefly considered her declaration, but revealed no response.

"With all due respect Warden. Let us not sit here and discuss your careless use of magic. At the moment, I want to know what you have done with my daughter."

"I thought we were discussing your crimes here, Loghain," she countered.

"You took my daughter, our Queen, by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"

The crowd uttered their collective surprise when Anora entered the hall.

"I believe I can speak for myself. Lords and Ladies of Ferelden, hear me. This Warden has slandered and defamed Ferelden's greatest hero in a bid to put an imposter on the throne. I know with certainty that she wishes to seize power through her lover. Is this the kind of kingdom Ferelden wishes? Does Ferelden want to be controlled by a mage, in the same way the Imperium wields its absolute power?" With her position revealed, Nuraya assumed she spent that last week at Arl Eamon's as a spy.

"Oh, and she turns on us. What a shock. She seemed like such a nice despot." Alistair said beneath his breath.

"It has become clear to me Warden, that the true threat to Ferelden is _you_. I offered you the chance to ally with me for the good of this land and you refused it. I won't allow you to destroy the throne that Cailan and I have held. And I especially will not stand by and watch you turn this fine country into an oppressive regime of rogue mages who enslave their people under the yoke of magic." Whispers erupted among the crowds. Rage began to ferment in Nuraya's belly. Her face burned and she wanted to put her hands around Anora's throat and squeeze. She regretted showing her hand so quickly. Perhaps Anora would have supported Alistair had Nuraya tried to double-cross her.

Loghain stepped forward, with his head high. "Who here can say that Anora is not fit to rule this land? And who can say that this Alistair is? We know nothing of him, say that he may have royal blood. For five years Anora has been Queen and has proven herself worthy of the Theirin name. She can lead our peoples through this crisis and I can lead her armies. My lords and ladies, our land has been threatened before. It has been invaded and lost and won times beyond counting. We Fereldans have proven that we will never be conquered so long as we are united. We must not let ourselves be divided now. And we shall even defeat the Blight itself."

Nuraya stepped forward to address the assembly. She gripped Galdorbryne's pommel for moral support. Turning to face the sea of faces in front of her, looked into Alistair's eyes. His simple nod spoke loudly of his confidence in her. It was enough for her to muster the courage to inhale and raise her chin. She hadn't prepared a speech and hoped that her racing mind would conjure the inspiration and clarity she needed at this moment.

"Good people of Ferelden. I stand before you and offer my hand and my skill to see you through this Blight. While Loghain indeed is a formidable military commander, he lacks the wisdom to know that a Blight cannot be defeated without the aid of the Grey Wardens. Loghain murdered your King, his son-in-law, and endeavored to eradicate every Warden in the land. But despite this, I survived. Alistair survived. And despite Loghain's impediments, we raised a force so mighty that the Archdemon will fear. Behind me stand Orzammar, the Mages, the Dalish and the brave army of Redcliffe. Together, united, we will see Ferelden though this. Noble people, Loghain's blood runs in my veins. Yet I stand here against my father in support of your true King, Alistair the son of Maric the Saviour."

A collective gasp erupted within the room; Nuraya had played her card, it was too late for regrets. Returning to her place amongst the crowd, she was too afraid to look at Loghain and too ashamed to connect with Alistair.

"This mage speaks madness. Perhaps a demon speaks through her!" Loghain seethed.

"How quickly you forget the name Edana." She spit back. Loghain looked at her in surprise, the truth of what she said was written clearly on his face, before he was able hide it. He pursed his lips and remained silent. This was the acknowledgement she had been waiting for. She felt no satisfaction; only anger.

"_Father_, what say you? With whom do you stand?" she called out. This time she saw Alistair's pained expression.

South Reach, the Waking Sea, Dragon's Peak, and the Western Hills offered their pronouncements. One by one, they threw their lot in with the Wardens, except for one snivelling noble who, between his hacking coughs, voiced his support of Loghain.

"Highever stands with the Grey Wardens." Telari affirmed, thus settling the Landsmeet in the Warden's favor. Nuraya never anticipated such strong support. She only hoped that her companions would continue to stand with her after this stunning admission. Loghain proceeded to lose his temper and spewed venomous words. Suddenly he felt himself too good to be judged by the Landsmeet. Nuraya had had enough and wondered when she might find herself in a dark corner at the Gnawed Noble Tavern. Even though all her efforts helped lead her to this very spot, she just wanted it over with. This victory was completely hollow for her and knew the Blight would be a welcome distraction.

Loghain's guard approached, ready for a fight.

"Call off your men and we will settle this honorably," she demanded.

Loghain maintained a tight expression but she could see in his eyes that he was a general who had lost his final battle. There would be no glory for either today.

"Then let us end this. I suppose we both knew it would come to this. When we first met at Ostagar I never would have thought so. Your revelation is indeed shocking. Stand against me then. Let us see what strength you have inherited."

Nuraya, trembling with fear and rage, approached Loghain. Wynne called out to her.

"Nuraya, please..."

She ignored the whispers from behind her.

"If it weren't for the Grey Wardens, I would be dead." She raised her hand slapped Loghain hard across his face. The aching in her hand was nothing compared to the rage in her heart. Loghain braced. His steely expression did not change, as his cheek flared pink. She marched back to her companions, seeing only a blur of faces. Wynne put an arm around her.

Loghain followed. "How dare you touch me you filthy mage! Edana was nothing more than a whore and a blood mage. You are dead to me! Let's end this! Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel." He pointed and spit when he roared.

Bann Alfstanna spoke on behalf of the Landsmeet. "It shall be fought according to tradition: a test of arms, in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

Nuraya quickly developed her strategy and hoped that she would not be left hanging in the wind.

"Will you face me yourself or have you a champion?" Loghain taunted.

She turned toward Alistair. "Alistair will be my champion." Alistair looked at her coldly.

If he was going to take the crown, he would do it through his own merit and strength. Her vindication by Loghain was complete. All she had to do was tell him who she was, and all he had to do was acknowledge without doubt. In the end, she still was the daughter of Maldwyn Amell, a humble smith who took her into his heart and protected her from the Chantry as long as he could. Loghain still had to answer for his crimes with Alistair: he had killed his brother and the man he loved as a father. This is why they must draw blades.

"Then let us test the mettle of our would-be king. Prepare yourself!" Loghain pulled out his sword and wielded it threateningly.

Alistair passed between Nuraya and Wynne. She could feel his armored shoulder push her aside.

The Grand Cleric's templars stood in front of Wynne and Nuraya and raised their hands. Immediately, she could feel an interruption within herself and sensed her power drain away. She was naked in the room. She was no one. Wynne gave her a defeated glance and Nuraya soured. From behind her she could hear Morrigan's disapproval.

"This is to ensure that the duel is fought honorably," the Grand Cleric proclaimed as she leered at Nuraya.

Loghain and Alistair were equally matched with regard to their weapons of choice. Both clutched their swords menacingly as they circled each other. Alistair gripped his Redcliffe kite shield while Loghain brandished one that bore the royal standard. Where Loghain had experience on his side, Alistair had guts, youth and his honed skill. Nuraya believed that everything they had faced up to this point had prepared him for this moment. He did not have Nuraya this time. She hoped that he remembered to pace himself accordingly. Her provisions of healing and stamina boosts would be sorely lacking.

Alistair clutched his sword, lying in wait. She was glad to see Loghain make the first move. He lunged forward, clashed blades but was effortlessly forced back. Nuraya could hardly breathe. Never before had she felt so helpless. Loghain charged with his shield and collided into his Alistair, who shouldered the attack, sidestepped and managed to connect with two powerful blows. With every strike, the each offered an effective counterstrike. Nuraya squeezed the hand in hers, realizing it was Wynne's.

Loghain backed off, circled again, like a wolf stalking his prey, Alistair followed, completely silent and locked in concentration. They sparred steadily, as swords smashed shields and shields knocked armour. The blows became more brutal, more determined. With overhanded swings and lunging attacks the men struggled to gain control of the match. Nuraya saw Alistair's left knee begin to tremble. This was a sign she feared and she was powerless to deal with it. She put her hands to her mouth as Loghain dodged an attack, causing Alistair to quaver. Immediately seeing this opportunity, Loghain barreled forward and knocked Alistair to the ground. Why was he tiring before Loghain? Nuraya's stomach lurched. She hoped it was just his nerves. So much was riding on this battle. A few nobles cheered Loghain on, others encouraged Alistair.

She whispered "Get up. Get up. Get up," and she felt Wynne's hand tighten again.

Alistair crouched under his shield and braced another attack. Ducking lower, he was able to destabilize Loghain long enough to jump back to his feet and fly forward. Loghain repelled the attack with his sword and landed another hit to Alistair's shoulder. On the battle continued. As Loghain passed in front of Nuraya she could smell his sweat and heard his heavy breathing. She felt some relief that he was straining to keep pace. With renewed vigor he ran at Alistair with the full force of his weight. Alistair was on the ground again. Everyone in the hall called out in concern. Could he turn this to his advantage again? He did not yield and continued to defend Loghain's assaults. He managed to find his footing again, but with the shaking knee, Nuraya was quickly loosing hope. Insulting catcalls erupted from Loghain's supporters.

Alistair, made a break, connected his sword within the gap between the chest plate and the helmet and forced Loghain to the ground. With rapid reflexes, he jabbed the sword into the spot and did not move. Loghain attempted to free himself but Alistair was unmoving and drew blood. He stepped on Loghain's arm, releasing his sword. With a quick flick of his boot, he sent it skidding across the floor. Loghain yielded.

Wynne put an arm around Nuraya and squeezed. "He did it!" Alistair had won the duel. He would be king, and she would be alone. She was relieved, but a profound sadness filled her heart. She hoped that the conclusion of these proceedings were quick as she had an overwhelming need to be alone. Her face felt very hot and her eyes fought back tears. _No not here. Absolutely not here_, she insisted. Swallowing back her pain, she felt the templar's hold release her. It was enough to get her through the next moment.

Loghain staggered to his feet and held his hand to his wound.

"So there is some of Maric in you after all. Good."

Alistair stepped forward. She had never seen that steely cold rage in his eyes before.

"Forget Maric. This is for Duncan."

Before Nuraya could anticipate his next move, Alistair swung his sword, slicing open Loghain's throat. He dropped to the stone floor. Blood pooled around his head and trickled between the cracks on the stone floor. Anora rushed to his body and wept. The Landsmeet erupted in shock and their astonishment echoed throughout the hall. As the crowd tightened around the scene, Loghain's guard dragged his body away. As Nuraya watched the scene, she hoped he would make peace with Edana in the Fade. She had already made hers.

Once those in the hall settled down, Eamon stepped forward. "So it is decided. Alistair will take his father's throne."

Alistair's response took Nuraya by surprise. He returned to the person she knew well, the man who would rather be a Grey Warden, who regretted his standing in the world.

"Now? I shall take the throne now…?" He stuttered and stammered, looked around for reassurance.

Anora stood and wiped her bloody hands together. She was too poised to soil her gown. "If Alistair would rather not have the throne, I am more than willing to take it."

"I hardly think you are the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora. Warden, will you help?" Eamon asked. Nuraya had forgotten she still had a role to play in this.

"I must speak with Alistair first," she said. They made for a small alcove for privacy. Her palms were sweaty and she felt her hands begin to tremble.

This was not the Alistair she knew. He was distant and cold. She searched for that knowing look in his eyes that she always relied upon, the look that reassured her that everything was going to be okay and made her feel less alone. That look was gone. Nothing familiar remained.

He crossed his arms and looked down at her. "I hope this is what you truly want. You spoke of matters today that torment me, which at the moment I consider unforgiveable. Tell me this is what you really want and we will speak no more about it."

"My decision is based on what is best for all of us, for you and for this land. Perhaps someday I will reap the benefits. The choice for me is clear. Do you consider yourself better for Ferelden than Anora?"

Alistair thought for a moment and nodded. "Yes, I can do this. I may not know politics the way she does, but I know what needs to be done. I can get our armies marching toward the Blight. She only cares about having power."

Nuraya admired his focus. She had lost hers long ago. The first time she conspired to seat him on the throne in an effort to help free mages, was the moment she conceded her primary task of ending the Blight. She felt shame in realizing that the Blight had become secondary. Alistair would make as fine of a King as a Grey Warden, that was now clear.

"And you are ready to give up your freedom?" she asked.

"If that is the price of ending the Blight, it is my duty as a Grey Warden. I will be giving up things far more dear to me than my freedom, however." A familiar look returned to his eyes, but it was fleeting. He shifted his weight. The previous night seemed like a lifetime ago now.

"And you believe yourself ready to be king?"

"Yes." He mustered more confidence, allowing the ramifications of their discussion to settle. Nuraya smiled weakly and touched his hand, but only for a moment. Abruptly she returned to Eamon.

"I have chosen. Alistair will lead Ferelden." The nobles murmured amongst each other.

"I accept that decision." Alistair stood in front of the nobility assembled, avoiding the shiny crimson pool on the floor. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

Eamon raised his hand and addressed the hall, "Anora, the Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our King and relinquish all claim to the throne for yourself and your heirs."

"If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me." She did have tenacity, which was admirable, Nuraya supposed.

"Anora, please be reasonable," she said.

Anora turned to her with a narrow look. "Reason clearly had nothing to do with your choice Warden. My only solace is that you are forbidden to carry on with this ridiculous affair with Alistair. I hope the templars hunt you to the ends of Thedas."

Eamon interrupted her and redirected the proceedings. "We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war. We must have unity. If she will not swear to you, Alistair and renounce her claim to the throne, she is a threat to us all."

"Put her in the tower for now. If I fall against the Blight, then she can have her throne. If not…then we'll see."

Anora was taken aback with this decision and conceded that it was wise. Alistair instructed the guards to have her removed. Nuraya decided this was not the last she would see of her half-sister. After the commotion of her arrest had calmed, Eamon instructed Alistair to address his people.

"I never knew him, but from all I've heard of my father, what defined him was his commitment to protecting this land. When this Blight is over, I will return and take up my duties, as your King. Until then, I ask Arl Eamon to be my Regent." Eamon accepted graciously. And then Alistair turned to Nuraya.

"Nuraya Amell, my fellow Grey Warden will, I hope, take Loghain's place as the leader of my armies. Shall we finish this thing together?"

Leader of his armies? Was Ferelden ready to have a Mage serve as its Commander? All she had now was the Blight. She was relieved that he was not so angry as to send her back to the tower.

"Together," she replied. This discussion echoed others they had in the past, except this was now only partly true.

"Everyone, get ready to march. It is going to take all of Ferelden's strength to survive this Blight. But we will face it and we will defeat it!"

* * *

_Bioware owns all. Thanks to my betas Kira Tamarion and Doorbellspider. Both had their fingers in and helped shape it. I had some harebrained ideas in here that I was able to let go of :) Thanks for your honesty! And how could I not thank **you** my reader? So glad you stopped by to see what Miss Nuraya is up to. There seems to be more trouble brewing in Denerim than the Blight. How will our hero manage? Stay tuned for **Chapter 19: Release**._


	19. Chapter 19: Release

A celebration had erupted at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. It was decided that the palace would undergo preparations for the Blight and with a reserved hope, for a coronation afterwards. Eamon's estate would remain their base of operations until the Archdemon was defeated. From beneath her feet, Nuraya could feel the drums pounding a temporary victory.

Earlier, men and women from every corner of Ferelden toasted their new King, and prayed to the Maker for his safety. Nuraya only stayed long enough to be congratulated and snuck through the back halls to her quarters. Alistair's distance was tearing her apart and she could not step back from the edge of tears.

Back in her room, she carefully returned her armor, piece by piece, to the stand in the corner. Her robe, now a second skin, given to her by Wynne on the night she had returned from the Fade, hung limp and lifeless on the wall. She gave her gauntlets and greaves a quick polish and thought of her father's loving hands as he crafted them in the fires of his Dungarven forge. Finally, she removed Galdorbryne and her breastplate, both gifts from Alistair. Placing her hand on the armor, she thought of happier times between them. As much as she wanted escape from the celebration, being alone reminded her too clearly of her choices. Sitting on the bed, she stared blankly at the wall. She felt nothing. Something inside of her had broken, irreparably.

"Am I disturbing you?"

Nuraya saw a familiar face poking in the door and was glad for the company.

"Not at all Telari. Please come in. I apologize for my state here. It has been a…complicated day for me."

Telari sat with her on the bed and placed an arm around her. It was such a human gesture, one that she realized she needed. Nuraya forced a smile.

"This is not a promising start as Ferelden's Commander."

Telari laughed. "You're still human, if you need to cry, have a go. I promise I won't start rumours. Your friends have been asking about you. Oghren sends a message that the Commander must prove that she can hold her liquor."

Nuraya smiled weakly. "Not tonight I am afraid. If I don't allow myself to fall apart tonight, I might just collapse into a sobbing pile in front of the Archdemon."

"Of course you won't, Nuraya. I wanted to come and tell you that I thought you were brilliant today. You're strategy worked. But I know at what cost."

She stared into empty space. "I've known this day would come. I guess it's impossible to properly prepare for it. And how is Alistair?" Nuraya could hardly believe that she was asking Telari this question. Funny how only a few weeks ago she fermented in jealousy when she discovered Telari and Alistair sitting together. Telari was her only connection to him now.

"He is unreachable this evening. Eamon and Teagan have him surrounded. Lots of cheering and congratulating, and I imagine the more ambitious Arls are posturing for influence. Alistair has a steep hill to climb to adjust to this lifestyle."

"And what's the general word on Loghain's bastard child? Do they worry that I shall take after him and betray my people?"

"Truth be told, tongues do wag downstairs. I don't think they see you as her father's daughter if that's what you're wondering. You more or less helped convince them that they chose wisely. You stood behind Alistair. And perhaps they hope that you inherited his ability to command an army…"

"Maker preserve us all." Nuraya groaned and collapsed backwards on the bed. "I don't think Alistair will ever forgive me though. It was bad enough that I practically forced him to be king. He had to learn in front of every Fereldan noble that the woman he's in love with is the daughter of his sworn enemy."

"Oh, give him time, he'll come round."

"I'm not sure. He will be pestered about marriage. I can only imagine that someone is downstairs right at this moment planning on matching him with their daughter."

Telari laughed out loud. "Probably. But I have no doubt that he's as pained and alone as you are now. Who knows what the future holds, friend? Perhaps he'll find the right words to convince the Chantry to allow you to remain together. Do not give up hope so soon!"

Nuraya ran her hands over her face and scratched her scalp. "You're very optimistic. You obviously don't know the Chantry as I do. I think I want some sleep now. Would you be offended? Would you tell everyone that I'll return to my senses tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. Please, come find me anytime you need a shoulder, even if it's to cry upon."

"I very much appreciate the offer, but let's hope that I come to my senses and become the Commander that Ferelden needs."

Telari quietly let herself out and Nuraya prepared for bed. She crawled under the coverlet and stretched out in the bed's expanse. This only punctuated her aloneness. She wanted to cry, but felt too empty to produce tears. She desperately wanted the release.

~0oOo0~

The sky is dark and dusted with stars. Where am I? Wind whips through my hair and howls mercilessly past my ears. I'm standing on sharp crags shrouded in ice and snow. Where is the horde? Perched on the roof of the world, I survey the landscape; all is dark and vulnerable below.

From the corner of my eye a shapeless shadow glides into the edges of my vision. I turn for a better look. Fire escapes its maw.

_Release me! Release me! _

Its voice tastes my mind, worms its way inside my head and devours my thoughts. I brace against the throbbing intrusion. It infects my mind with sorrow and pity as I watch the beast's steady approach. Great sinewy wings block the horizon. The eyes, the eyes they see right inside of me. It's in my mind, licking, sucking, feeding.

_Release me! Release me!_

Wings cascade to the mountainside. Claws grasp spiked stone. Lean muscle and scale flex. Once again, I stand before it's a reptilian eye that is almost the size of my head. It's marbled, dark and polished. A thin membrane, a spectral curtain, closes over the wet surface and opens. The pupil, dark and empty, focuses. I am transfixed.

_Release me! Release me!_

The pity returns; transcendent compassion rises to my consciousness. I tentatively reach, rattling in fear, and rest my hand on the side of the beast's face. A connection. The eye languidly blinks. I sense the prison, the primordial trap, the eternal suffering, the centuries of projected hatred, the rage. I know this feeling well. It's part of me too. This is not mindless evil. This is sad, deeply sad.

_I will release you, _I whisper_._ The eye blinks and I am face-to-face with rows of ragged teeth. It's breath, the smell of coal and flesh swirls over my face. The jaws slaver, a thin serpentine tongue whips past me. A thunderous roar drives me backward. I stumble. I fall. I am plummeting at speeds my mind cannot calculate.

There is a knock.

~0oOo0~

Nuraya sat up and found herself soaked in sweat. Someone was pounding at the door. Had she been screaming? At the door she heard Alistair calling her name. Was he trying to comfort her from the nightmares?

"Get up, we must make for Redcliffe." Upon opening the door she noticed he was prepared for battle.

"Redcliffe?" she croaked and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. Her tangled hair hung over her cotton night dress. She wiggled her toes into the cracks on the floor, feeling vulnerable.

"The horde is on the move. Scouts have arrived to alert us that Redcliffe will be attacked any day. Get going. Meet us at the stables."

She nodded and shut the door, racing to prepare herself. After throwing on her clothes and armor, she stuffed her pack with everything she required, praying that she was not forgetting anything. Distracting her from her task, were her concerns about Alistair. She was not ready to pretend that nothing was happening between them or face the wall, the denials, the rejection and the façade of detachment. Perhaps Telari was right and his pain was as acute. Regardless, she understood his need to show a brave face and was determined to muster the same.

With her pack, she hurried to the stables to find that the Tandyr was ready and furnished with armor. With haste, her groom guided her into the saddle.

"The King and his Regent have already left and advise that you follow the main highway through the city and rendezvous outside the city gates. Mounts are being prepared for your company. I shall instruct them when they arrive."

"Thank-you ser. Maker watch over you."

"Divine blessings upon us all." He replied solemnly. She desired to stroke Tandie's coarse mane, but it lay beneath the silverite crinet and shaffron. Wishing she had more time to admire the workmanship, she averted her gaze and urged him through the stable gates.

The streets were quiet at this hour. The sun had not yet risen, although the darkness had started to thin. Tandie raced from the gate and followed the main avenue through the city. Not far from the estate, a lone figure stood in the middle of the road. She jolted Tandyr to a walk and approached. A man sauntered toward her, silhouetted in the morning light. He removed his hood.

"Anders! What in the void are you doing here in the middle of the road?"

"Waiting for you of course! The Collective informed me of your whereabouts and I was plotting how I was going to break in and find you. But when I saw the horses leave moments ago, I realized I had my chance. I was near the stables when I heard your voice. You've spoiled all my fun Nuraya! There is no challenge in meeting like this! I was so looking forward to a daring break-in!" He grinned mischievously.

She wanted to ask him how he managed to escape the Circle, but her sense of urgency to get out of the city distracted her.

"Leave Denerim, Anders. Not only will the Chantry catch up with you, but the streets will be crawling with Darkspawn any day." She quickly hatched a plan. "Make for Amaranthine at this moment. Do not tarry. I will find you there, should I make it through the Blight."

"Why Amaranthine?"

"The Arl is dead. The city will be in turmoil. Hide in the chaos."

"What happened to the Arl?"

She was growing impatient. Now was not the time to catch up with old friends. She reached into her side bag and grabbed a satchel of coin and tossed it to Anders.

"I killed him. I must go, but I'll meet you in Amaranthine." She urged Tandyr forward.

"That's my girl! You are so full of surprises, Nuraya!"

She turned her head and saw him wave as he tossed the coin purse playfully in the air.

"Behave!" she shouted. "And NO BLOOD MAGIC!"

"Yes ser!" she heard him yell and she kneed her steed to encourage him into a run.

~0oOo0~

She raced unaccompanied until dusk. Riding helped her feel less alone, at least. _So much for meeting me outside of the city_. She guessed that they were as anxious to leave as she and grew impatient while they waited. Frequently, she would turn and watch behind her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sten, Zev, Leliana, Oghren or Wynne. Apart from the dust she turned up on the road, she saw nothing. This did not worry her, as they had strength in each other. The entire ride became an ironic metaphor for Nuraya. Alistair galloped head of her, gaining further distance and left her behind in the dust. She supposed she deserved some of his punishment. She was not even sure why Alistair was angry at her, at least not specifically. Was it the secret about Loghain? The sneaking around while she collaborated with the Mages Collective? Perhaps he finally felt bitterness about being forced to take the throne. Maybe it was all of these things together. This is not how she imagined the conclusion of the Landsmeet. She imagined the sadness, yes, but the ostracising was unexpected. How much influence did she have with the Theirin line now? The complete failure of her plans sunk hard into the pit of her stomach.

It was only then that she realized she hadn't eaten for hours and slowed Tandie to a walk so she could rummage through the side bag for something to take the edge off. Not that she was particularly hungry, but keeping up her energy would help her stay alive in the event she encountered the Darkspawn on the road.

A figure ran out of the bush into the road. _Bleeding highwayman!_ she cursed to herself. She decided to use her advantage and sprint out of trouble. No need to waste her energy on a measly thief. Darkspawn would eventually catch up with the bandit and crush him like a bug. Leaning low into Tandie's neck she squeezed her knees inward, elevated her bottom and prepared for a gallop. With surging momentum, he stormed forward. The man stood in the centre of the road, waving his arms. Before the impending collision, she noticed the Redcliffe standard on his breastplate. Jerking the reigns to her chest, Tandie reared and shrieked at Eamon's guard. Nuraya soothed him with soft words as Captain Fane approached.

"Well met, Commander Amell, I've been watching for you. We've made camp here, come this way please."

Nuraya dismounted and followed Fane. She noticed that a section of guard was hiding in ambush as she led Tandyr through the brush.

"Are the others far behind?" he asked.

"I would like to hope, but I haven't seen them all day."

"I suspect your fair mount might be sprightlier than the common palace steed. Our guards will keep watch. Come. Let's get you settled. I'm sure you have had a long day."

They walked into a clearing, revealing a bustling military base camp. She was impressed how quickly it had been established. A pair of young soldiers greeted her respectfully. One offered to care for Tandyr and clean his furnishings. She offered him a quick nuzzle before handing over the reins, ensuring that there would be a special carrot or apple for her friend. His partner escorted her to her tent. These were not the simple a-frames where they had spent so many cold nights. Although they managed to keep out the rain, they offered little of comfort. To her amazement, she was escorted into a roomy pavilion, furnished with a cot covered in furs. There was even a small table in the corner in the event she needed to attend to any administrative duties in the short time she intended on staying.

"The King and the Regent will meet with you when you have settled, Commander. I'll be outside if you need anything," said the elf. Despite his size, he was well armed and most likely, deadly.

"Thank-you…" she offered her hand to shake. He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed.

"I will be your personal guard, Commander. Call me Jaska. I have vowed to the King and Regent to be your protector."

"Well met Jaska," she smiled. "Are you Dalish?"

"_Andaran atish'an_, Commander. This is my way of honoring the one who saved our clan from Zathrian's curse." He stepped outside the tent and assumed his sentry in front of the door.

How quickly things had changed. At least she was not being escorted back to Kinloch Hold in chains. It could be worse, she thought, but not by much. Throwing her saddlebag and pack into a corner, she quickly washed in a waiting basin and smoothed back her dusty hair. She pulled her braid in front of her shoulder and went in search of Alistair and Eamon.

Jaska pointed to the tent on to her left. "This is the King's, and his Regent is settled on the other side."

As they made their way to Alistair's tent, she asked "How many of us are there?"

"Forty warriors, forty archers and twenty or so odd support troops, transport, we even have a cook."

"Excellent," she remarked as Jaska flipped aside the doorway and announced Nuraya's arrival. Alistair's accommodations were more befitting of royalty with more space and amenities. He sat a large table with Eamon, studying a map. Nuraya reminded herself to only focus on business at hand and to stop searching for hints and signs to assuage her worry. Jaska stepped outside and left the three of them to strategize.

"Welcome to base camp…Commander!" Eamon invited her to join them at the table. "How was your journey? Did you encounter any Darkspawn?"

"T'was uneventful. The roads are quiet. A little too quiet if you ask me. What have the scouts reported?"

They studied the map and Eamon informed her where the horde was last spotted.

"The scouts claim that the main horde is marching north, most likely to Denerim, but a smaller group is heading straight for Redcliffe and is expected to attack in a day or so. Our scouts inform us that they are on foot and are moving slowly."

Nuraya pointed to where the horde branched in two directions. "Could we not send a company to weaken this junction and another to defend Redcliffe? We need to isolate this secondary group from the main horde and perhaps slow the entire march in the process." Playing chess at the Circle had been her only practice with strategy and hoped that it was worthy knowledge she could draw upon.

"Excellent suggestion, Commander," Eamon said. "My only concern is this might draw the main horde to Redcliffe. This camp is about to march to Denerim. Redcliffe is vulnerable."

"But if we concentrate the forces where they diverge, we could push them farther north, toward Denerim. They take orders from the Archdemon, and I seriously doubt that it sees Redcliffe as its primary target. If the Archdemon's objective is to destroy Ferelden, it would make sense to cut out the heart first. Take the archers with Alistair as well as Wynne, Sten and Oghren to isolate the smaller group. I'll take the warriors with Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran to Redcliffe. That should provide you with ground support and my units with sufficient ranged." Nuraya felt like a complete fraud, and hoped that someone else might jump in with a better plan.

Eamon turned to Alistair. "Your thoughts on this plan? It's not a bad one."

"I can't think of another that avoids meeting the main horde head on" He turned to Nuraya, "Inform the troops of the plan. If the scouts return tonight with any new reports, we'll meet again to reconsider our strategy."

Nuraya nodded. "I'll appoint Captain Fane as my second."

A bell rang from somewhere in the camp. "Ah, that would be Tarben. He's the camp cook." Eamon placed a hand on Nuraya's shoulder and invited them to dine. After he had left, Nuraya paused for a second, hoping Alistair might say something. When he stood from the table and put away the maps without speaking a word, she got the message and headed out of the tent.

"Come and see me after you eat. We need to talk," he said, without looking up. He used a business-like tone and offered Nuraya no encouragement.

"Alistair…" she started, in the voice she only used with him. He held up his hand.

"Later."

Defeated, she left and went to find this Tarben character. He stood in the middle of the camp, commanding a large caldron of simmering stew. A bear of a man, he was both massive and covered in coarse dark hair. With bulging arms, he rationed the meal and his growling voice ensured the line passed efficiently. Tarben served her meal and ordered her to not block the route.

"Obviously, you have not yet met the Commander," she heard Eamon say.

"My blessed ladle! Begging your pardon ma'am. How come you're not seated? Your guard could have served you." He dropped his ladle in the stew and saluted.

"What? And miss this chance to meet the great Tarben? Your stew is the stuff of legend!" His eyes lit up and he laughed merrily. "This will stick to yer bones. Come back for more any time, Commander!" Without skipping a beat, he proceeded to verbally abuse the rest of the troops that filed past.

She scanned the camp and noticed Zevran and Leliana sitting by a fire, enjoying their meal. It reminded her of the times they had spent together while gathering their allies. She needed familiarity right now.

"Ah! The Warden is here. See Leliana, I was certain that her stallion was much faster than the workhorses we suffered on." Zevran smiled, as if nothing had changed.

"Zevran…she's the Commander now. How quickly you forget the Landsmeet."

"She will always be my dear Warden," he winked.

Nuraya sat on a log and picked at the stew and eventually picked up the pace when her appetite finally returned. All her companions had arrived safely and had busied themselves with some activity to prepare for the coming battle. She learned that Riordan also joined them, and was out discussing Darkspawn battle tactics with some of the lesser experienced troops. Telari Cousland opted to stay in Denerim with the rest of the King's guard. Leliana and Zevran avoided touchy questions about Alistair, which Nuraya greatly appreciated. She was even able to forget her troubles momentarily. Zevran acted as if nothing had changed, and she was grateful for that small gesture.

They asked about her revelation at the Landsmeet regarding her connection to Loghain. She told them everything, using the same story about killing Flemeth as she had with Alistair. If Flemeth decided to appear at their camp tonight, she surely would be escorted back to the Circle in chains. Jaska appeared when her plate was empty and offered to take her dishes.

"So, my lovely Warden, what plans have you this evening?" Zevran asked.

"Not many. I have a meeting with Alistair and then I suppose I will settle in and try and rest. Both of you will be accompanying me to Redcliffe tomorrow."

"We both look forward to the challenge. Come and find us if you want company, Nuraya. I'll even sing a song that I have been writing about your adventures," Leliana offered. Nuraya generously accepted the offer and headed for Alistair's tent.

It was odd having an escort and odder still that Jaska would overhear their discussion. She didn't care that he watched her take a deep breath before she entered. He would hear everything anyway.

Alistair was hunched over the map again, tracing paths and trying to discern the situation from every angle.

"Good, you've come. We need to talk. I'm glad we can find a moment alone." She joined him at the table and Alistair poured two tankards of ale. Drinking deeply, she watched his expression for some hint of his mood. She read nothing but coldness.

"I'd like to explain what happened at the Landsmeet." she started. She was glad there was ale.

"First, I want to clear the air. Now that I am going to be king, I'll be expected to marry and produce an heir. Given that I'm to marry a noble, that means that you and I will have to end our…" His brow crinkled and his pain was clear. She placed a hand on his.

"We've understood this from the beginning Alistair. I know. But…the Landsmeet is now aware that I'm from a noble family. Is this the only way? We have something legitimate to work with now." She also wanted to blurt out what Fiona had told her. This was the only hope that remained for her. Fearful of Fiona's reprisals if she broke her promise, she bit her tongue.

"Will you just _stop_ Nuraya! No more schemes, please! The Chantry will absolutely forbid it. You know I can't change this. We are impossible. Which leads me to my next question…"

"You want to know about Loghain."

Alistair slammed his fists on the table and she caught the rattling tankard.

"How dare you do that to me! I looked like a fool in front of every bloody noble across Ferelden. How could you keep this from me? Were you working with him? What was all that business sneaking around Denerim?" She had never seen his temper rise quite so quickly. The man who used to turn stressful situations into jokes was not inside this tent. She grew afraid and dropped her head.

"Don't be ridiculous! I've had to plot and scheme to get rid of a man I recently learned was my father_._ He's not King Maric the Saviour. No! Mages were just weapons to him. So, I came up with a plan, Alistair. It had nothing to do with you. _You_ are to be King. But where does that leave me?" Her anger swelled and she bolted from her chair. "I will not return to the Circle to live out the remainder of my days in that tomb! So you can go tell all your Chantry friends that they will have to search under every stone in Ferelden to find me!" Her face burned and for the first time she hated him. Alistair dropped his voice and softened.

"I have no intention of doing that. How long have you known about Loghain?"

"After I killed Flemeth and I found my father. He told me the whole story. Duncan had found an apostate blood mage that Loghain was hunting. What sort of relationship Loghain and this mage had and whether or not it was consensual, I don't know and never will. Loghain had her killed. Duncan saved me and brought me to my parents to hide my identity."

"Duncan! Maker. Why didn't you tell me? I told you I was a bloody royal bastard for Maker's sake! Did you not think that I could help you? Or at the very least, relate to that?"

She sat back down and sunk in her chair and could not look him in the eye. "Alistair this is something I had to do for myself. I was afraid to involve you, in case things did not go according to plan. There is no way the Landsmeet would accept a candidate working with the Mages Collective or with the illegitimate mage offspring of a noble." She explained her meetings with Kalvindir and what that accomplished.

"So you were able to get the mages to influence the Landsmeet in my favour?"

"Yes, and right now I am their only hope. Please understand that what I have done was not intended to hurt you in any way."

His demeanor changed, just as she thought they were beginning to come to an understanding.

"So you were running around Denerim trying to get me on the throne so that you could change things for the mages? What about the Blight! How am I to trust that you'll actually focus on the Blight and not off on some scheme to free every mage in Ferelden?" He asked coldly.

"Trust me?" Her fury returned. "Everything I have done for the Theirins and the Grey Wardens I have done with the sanctioned use of magic. Never once have I sought the assistance of a demon or of a benevolent spirit. Not once! It was just me! It is possible…don't you see? I have nothing more up my sleeve Alistair. I am here to fight the Blight. This is all I have left in this world!"

She stood up and walked over to him, and faced him intimidatingly. "Together we will end this Blight, I think you said yesterday. This is a word you can hold me to."

"I hope that your word is still good," he retorted.

"I am offended that after everything that we have been through you still have the guile to question my honour!" she spat and stormed from the tent.

Turning to her guard, she checked her temper and said, "You're dismissed for the evening, Jaska. Please get some rest. I'll call upon you if there is anything I need."

"_Ma nuvenin_, Commander." He bowed respectfully and took his leave.

Nuraya was quickly losing control. Frantically, she searched the camp and spied Zevran by the fire. Trying to mask her rage and anguish, she made her way over to him. He and Leliana looked up with a smile, which quickly turned to concern.

"Come sit with us, dear Warden," he said. Leliana was sitting beside him, tuning her lute.

"Another time maybe," Nuraya said tersely. "Have you a dagger?"

"Do you need help Nuraya?" Leliana asked.

"I need a dagger. And if I don't find one in the palm of my hand soon, I shall tear this camp apart until I do." She held out her hand and tapped her foot impatiently.

Zevran reached into a sheath strapped to his leg and withdrew a dirk and handed it to her, handle first. Leliana got up.

"What's wrong? Please tell us. We can help."

"I need to be alone. I'll see you tomorrow." Nuraya ran off before they could interfere any more.

She headed to the outskirts of the camp, her chest was tight and her head ached. She found a quiet spot by a stream and kneeled by the water's edge. Covering her eyes, she wept deeply allowing the pain to trickle down her cheeks. Years of pent up agony flooded out. She hated being a mage. For all the power she commanded, nobody wanted her, nobody trusted her. She was worthless. With a shaking hand, she held the blade to the side of her head and sliced off her braid. The blade resisted the tangled strands but she kept pulling it through. When she had finished, she placed it on a stone and stabbed the dirk into the ground. She buried her face again and sobbed at length. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder.

"Hush child…" Wynne spoke softly.

* * *

_Bioware own all. I merely take pleasure in their established world. Thanks to my Betas Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider. I've run out of clever ways to express my appreciation, so Thank-you! The intent still stays the same, no matter how many words I wrap around it. For all my fellow Canuks: Happy Canada day (eh!) And of course, thanks to everyone from our beautiful blue planet for dropping in. Nuraya's in for some dark times. How will she work things out with Alistair? Stay tuned for **Ch 20: Sacrifice**._


	20. Chapter 20: Sacrifice

**Chapter 20: Sacrifice**

Leading her muster to Redcliffe was exactly the distraction Nuraya needed. Laden and stained with so much anger and sorrow, she hoped to cleanse her darkness away with death. She needed to focus her pain and slaughter the Darkspawn infecting her homeland. Out of habit, she reached for her braid, only to find frayed edges over her ears. Her old self was gone, discarded by a river.

Focusing on the road, her eyes burned, not from the dust but from a hazy exhaustion. The nightmares interrupted what little sleep she had; her waking concerns prevented her from dozing off. The Archdemon relentlessly elicited its grotesque pity as she dreamed, while her torn and broken heart longed for her Grey Warden while awake. As she raced toward the village, she thought to ask Riordan about the dreams. She could no longer confide in Alistair and hoped this failure was not a harbinger of things to come. Smoke rose from the horizon, a curling tail of shadow sullying the hazy sky. She turned Tandyr and motioned for her troops to move in quickly.

She worried that the throngs of Darkspawn would spook Tandyr. After their first encounter on the return from Dungarven, how could she blame him? He surprised her with his temerity. Today they truly were a fighting as a team. Without the reigns, she cut down the Darkspawn that crossed her path, watching with grim satisfaction as their flesh ignited. She filled her hollow heart with bloodlust and vengeance. No hurlock or genlock frightened her on the battlefield. Perhaps their distance from their master weakened them, or had she underestimated her own strength. Regardless, she hacked and stabbed and forced the mob to part.

As her company arrived at Redcliffe, she rode through the troops and found her second-in-command, Captain Fane.

"Take half the men and clear the village. I'll take the rest to protect the castle," she said in a tone of command.

Captain Fane turned and quickly organized the troops into two groups.

"You heard the Commander! Company A to the village! The rest will follow the Commander!"

"Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran stay with me!" she hollered.

Nuraya looked over the fierce faces of her company and galloped uphill toward the castle.

They broke through a throng of Darkspawn at the courtyard's entrance, and kept them from penetrating the castle walls. The confines of the yard proved to be too dangerous on horseback so she dismounted and ordered Jaska to keep him out of harm's way. Quickly, she joined the fray with Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran, and healed and many of the Arl's soldiers, using much of her lyrium reserves in the process. She hurled fire and ice toward small groups of hurlocks who had managed to corner the vulnerable soldiers. As the battle raged on, Nuraya continued to draw more and more mental strength from each Darkspawn she kicked to the ground.

Morrigan and Nuraya took down an ogre that had come crashing into the courtyard. As it stumbled in its own weakness, she jumped upon its back and plunged Galdorbryne deep into its skull. With a sickening crack and a mess of grey matter, she twisted her blade until it stopped twitching. She turned to see that a second ogre had followed and watched as Zev and Leliana brought it to the ground quickly. Studying the courtyard, she continued to offer aid, and tended to the wounded soldiers. Feeling like she was had just gotten started, quiet descended over the yard.

She was so focused on eliminating every Darkspawn there; she had not realized that Jaska had managed to shadow her the entire time. Nuraya sized him up as he searched the dead and collected any items worth saving or selling. She knew he would be a formidable ally in the days to come.

"I'm heading back to the village to offer aid. Stay with the men here and start healing who you can," she said to her guard.

She examined Tandyr. Surprisingly, he'd held up remarkably well. She mounted him and galloped across the bridge, back the village. No Darkspawn survived her passing. Arriving in the village square she saw that Captain Fane's company had conquered the remaining enemy and their numbers were still strong. She ordered her men to take the wounded to the Chantry. The village was safe, for the time being. She scoured every corner and her internal signal remained silent.

Eventually, her thoughts turned to Alistair and his contingent that were south of the village. She headed back to the castle to regroup, taking a small party to go and assist. She instructed Jaska to round up every able soldier and follow her. Zevran, Leliana and Morrigan returned to their mounts and followed her to the main road.

Her mind was quiet and there were no signs of Darkspawn or of Alistair. Panic surged in her belly. What if his company had been overwhelmed by the main horde? The farther they traveled from the village, the deeper her fear settled. The crest of a hill offered her a good vantage point of the valley below. She hurried Tandyr to the top and scanned. She spied nothing and she felt nothing, only lowland scrub and scattered thickets of trees extended to the horizon. She looked for any sign of a skirmish and listened carefully for a reassuring sign of battle. The wind whistled past her ears.

"What do you think we should do?" Leliana asked as she held her hand over her brow and looked out at the horizon.

"We should not leave Redcliffe unattended." Nuraya said, regretfully.

"I suggest we return to the village and send out a search party once more time has passed; it is too early to believe the worst, my dear Warden." Zevran said, pulling his horse toward the crest of the hill.

Morrigan jumped from her horse. "Waiting too long could mean the loss of your King." Nuraya raised her eyebrow. While, she was in complete agreement, she wondered when and why Morrigan developed any concern for Alistair. Nuraya felt that with Sten and Oghren they would have a good chance to survive.

She turned Tandie toward the city. No matter how angry she was at Alistair, losing him to the main horde was the last thing that she wanted to happen. She managed a few paces, before she could not bear the fear rising within her. Abandoning her search so soon was utterly wrong. Regardless of what had transpired over the past few days she would not allow herself to give up altogether. Halting Tandyr, she called out to those who followed her.

"I cannot leave them. Go to Redcliffe without me If I don't return by nightfall, send out a search party."

"Commander, I am bound by duty to protect you."

"Very well Jaska. Zevran! I will leave you in charge then. Meet up with Captain Fane in the village." Zevran saluted, in a part endearing, part serious manner and turned with the company and rode away.

Nuraya sat and meditated for a few minutes. She shut her eyes and searched the darkness of her mind; her gut had little to offer as well. Empty. No signal.

"What do you think Tandyr? Where do you think they might be?" He snorted and flicked his head, as if to say that he had no idea either.

"Come Jaska, I suggest we head south," she said.

They rode for a half hour with no luck. The countryside offered no hint of their whereabouts. At the same time, she took it as a good sign that the horde was not marching toward Redcliffe. Her panic began to interfere with her concentration. Suddenly, Jaska held up his hand and dismounted, crouched and placed his ear to the ground. He sat up and smiled.

"Horses approach from the east."

This was the best news she had heard all day. They tore across the plain until her mind's eye honed in on their location. It was Alistair, without question. Pushing her weight onto her heels, she hovered over the saddle and let Tandyr fly, guiding him towards the direction of Alistair's warden herald. At last, the tips of the royal standard appeared over a knoll and she slowed Tandie as she approached. Standing on high ground, she observed the company riding toward her, kicking up dust in their wake. From their numbers and demeanor, she saw that it was a successful campaign. With relief and eagerness she waved.

"Ho! Commander!" Eamon called out. Racing to Alistair in the same way she had returned from their previous successes, she was thrown back into the present moment when she noticed his indifference.

"Redcliffe is safe! We set out in search of you in the event you required aid. You cannot imagine my relief that you return with such large numbers! Is anyone in need of healing?" She tried to ignore Alistair's demeanour.

Alistair eyed her strangely. She supposed that her lack of hair may have come as a shock, and she imagined that she looked all the more wilder after everything she had accomplished today.

Maintaining his detachment, he pointed to the rear of the company. 'Wynne has everything under control."

"Let us return and see what is left of Redcliffe, Commander." Eamon said as he galloped homeward.

~0oOo0~

A great pyre burned in the castle courtyard. Darkspawn corpses were thrown onto the blaze, releasing an unbearable stench. The alternative was to allowing the dead to fester and rot. Redcliffe chose the former and held their noses. After Tandyr was ushered to the Redcliffe stables, Nuraya took it upon herself, with Riordan's help, to dispose of the mess. She would do anything to avoid Alistair at the moment. Like her earlier assault, this activity helped keep her mind off of him. Riordan grabbed a genlock by the feet while Nuraya took its wrists. Swinging the corpse between them, they released and watched it soar and slide down the pile and ignite. He brushed off his hands and approached Nuraya.

"Once you have cleaned up, I would like to speak with you and Alistair."

"Is there a problem, Riordan?" she asked as she gathered her belongings.

He hesitated and said "There is…just some more information about the Grey Wardens that I must share before we return to Denerim and face the Archdemon." He rubbed his hands on his breeches and sauntered toward the Castle.

A serving girl greeted her in the foyer, looking a little worse for the wear.

"Commander, let me escort you to your room."

Nuraya followed her down the hall. "You can sleep well tonight, the village is safe."

The servant paled and stopped in her tracks. "My brother volunteered to march to Denerim. I have not heard word if he survived." She paused and then stammered. "My apologies, Commander. I mean no disrespect."

"The wounded are in the Chantry. You might learn of him there. If not, go find my guard, Jaska, in the barracks and tell him I sent you to learn of his whereabouts." Nuraya understood the woman's anxiety. Redcliffe had witnessed far too much death and violence as of late.

She smiled and bowed. "You are too kind, Commander. On behalf of my entire family, I thank you." She took Nuraya to the room where she had stayed before. As much as she felt a sense of belonging in this space, but she hoped that someone else occupied adjoining room. Surely Alistair would be given something more befitting a King. She supposed he would want the entire expanse of the estate to separate them.

"Ser Alistair, I mean, his Majesty, will be next door. Lady Isolde asked us to settle the both of you in familiar surroundings. Maker knows there are dark days ahead. She thought it would be of great comfort for you."

Obviously word had not spread that quickly about the King and the pariah Mage.

"Thank you. Please send my kind regards to the Arlessa."

"What shall I bring you?"

Nuraya did not want to be bothered with a servant poking about, yet she did not want to seem rude either.

"If you wouldn't mind, set a tray of food outside the door. I would be most grateful."

"Right away, Commander." The servant bowed again and took her leave.

Closing the door, she leaned on it and took a deep breath. She was a mess. Her robes were coated in Darkspawn filth, she stank of sweat and blood and her hair practically stood on end. She went in search of a brush to scrub the stains from her hands and nails. For the next hour she worked at decontaminating herself and her equipment. She felt a bit like Sten. Sitting cross legged on the bed, she worked with her needle and thread to repair a tear under the arm of her robe, humming her mother's song as she stitched.

A light knocking interrupted her concentration. She absent-mindedly invited the caller to enter. The hallway door remained shut and she realized the sound was coming from that other door—the one she wished she could brick over.

"Riordan is waiting. I'll meet you in his quarters," Alistair said tersely.

She sighed loudly and fastened the thread. "I'm coming."

They walked in an awkward silence to Riordan's quarters. Nuraya felt like singing. It was a ridiculous thought of course, but she wanted to rebel against the silence. Any song would have sufficed. Back in her days at the Circle, they used to sing a little rhyme to taunt the templars. That would have been a good one to start whistling:

_Sister sister, templar Fisher_

_Saw a mage and couldn't catch her_

_Chased her high and chased her low_

_She turned around and made it snow_

_Sister sister templar Fisher_

_Saw a mage and let her go_

Under her breath she hummed, chasing away the utter awkwardness of their march down the hall. If Alistair recognized the song, he did not react.

Riordan was pacing when they arrived.

"Good, you are both here. Since you are both relatively new to the Grey Wardens, you may not have been told how an Archdemon is slain. I need to know if that is so." He looked at Nuraya and Alistair expectantly.

"You mean there is more to killing one than just chopping off its head?" Alistair asked. There was something reassuring in his ribald tone. _Maybe he hasn't completely changed_.

"The Archdemon may be slain as any other Darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the killing, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest Darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body, making the Archdemon essentially immortal. But if an Archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden, its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead."

The thought of being occupied by the essence of the Archdemon did not rest well with Nuraya. Perhaps in her dreams she was being seduced to release it. Perhaps the pity was a trick the Archdemon played inside her mind.

"So what happens to the Grey Warden?" she asked.

"A Darkspawn in an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the Archdemon will be destroyed. And so will the Grey Warden," Riordan replied.

"Meaning the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon…dies." Alistair said.

"Yes, without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way."

"So it us up to the three of us to kill this thing." Nuraya said, still trying to accept what Riordan had just told her.

"In Blight's past, when the time came, the eldest of the Grey Wardens would decide which amongst them would take the final blow. The final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, the deed falls to you. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that. There will be much to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before. I will let you return to your rooms."

Alistair spoke directly to Riordan, "I'll see you once the army is ready to march. It will be an honour to arrive in Denerim with you. I guess this ends soon, one way or another."

"That it does my friend, that it does." Riordan replied, grimly.

Instead of following Alistair, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. How much worse could this Grey Warden business get? The price of her freedom from the Chantry and its Circle weighed heavily upon her. Had she realized that she might end up dead, she might not have spent the past few months trying to secure a better future for the mages. They would just end up suffering in chains anyway. Nuraya walked the long way around to return to her room, still working through Riordan's words.

The food tray was waiting for her and she picked it up and carried it inside. She nearly dropped it when she saw Morrigan sitting by the hearth.

"Don't be alarmed, 'tis only I" she said. Nuraya set her tray on the table.

"Is everything okay?"

"Oh yes. 'Tis you who are in danger. I have a plan. A way out. I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed. And that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you that this does not need to be."

Nuraya braced herself on the back of a chair. "How do you know about this?"

"Really, at the moment, this detail is not as important as what I am offering you. I offer a way out. A way for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual…performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."

"A ritual?" Compared to the Joining and her Harrowing she could only begin to imagine what this ritual might entail. She decided then and there that she would make no deals with a demon. Death was a better option.

Morrigan stood and paced the room. "It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some might call it blood magic, but that is but a name. There is far more to fear in this world than names."

Blood magic. Nuraya took a seat. Morrigan's plan sounded less and less attractive. "Where did you learn of this ritual?"

"This is what my mother intended when she sent me with you. She was the one who first told me of this ritual. This should not come as a surprise to you, Nuraya. Did you ever stop to wonder why Flemeth saved your life, why she aided you? This is why. What is important is that I am offering this to you now. It will work and it will save your life." The mysterious discussion with Flemeth on the mountains near Dungarven was beginning to make a little more sense.

"So what does this ritual entail? Let me warn you that anything involving me entering the Fade to collaborate with a demon is out of the question."

"Please, that is not old magic. The demons in the Fade are nothing more than the projections of the Chantry. You should look into it sometime. I need your help, but you need not get directly involved."

Nuraya conceded. "Okay, then tell me more."

"You must convince Alistair to lay with me, tonight. And from this a child shall be conceived. The child will bear Alistair's taint, and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this stage, the child can absorb the essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, but no Grey Warden will need to die in the process." She said this in the manner one might instruct another to peel a potato and Nuraya almost had to ask her to repeat it.

"So you wish to mother some sort of Darkspawn." She had not fully calculated Alistair into this equation.

"No, not at all. The child will be born with the soul of an Old God. After this is done, you allow me to walk away…and you do not follow—ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."

"And you are sure this will work?" Nuraya was amazed she could continue this conversation.

"I know my mother well enough to be certain this ritual will work and it will save your life."

"I am not so certain that Alistair will agree to this."

"If you care for him as you seem to, you will convince him."

"That is a difficult request. He barely speaks to me. What am I supposed to do, waltz into his room and say. 'Hi Alistair, I know you can barely stand to be around me at the moment, but would you do me a little favor and go sleep with Morrigan? Just a little blood magic, nothing to worry about.'"

"Ah yes. This whole chopping off your hair business, how dramatic of you. If I were you, I would not allow a little lover's tiff to stand between life and death."

"I think this qualifies as something a little more serious than a lover's 'tiff'."

"Even so, do you think that Alistair will fail to do his duty as the future King and save his country? Or do you think he will really let you take the final blow? I don't think he has the strength to live with that guilt. I am sure you will find a persuasive argument."

"What about this child? Will it be hurt?"

"After one night it could be barely be called a child. And no, it will not be hurt, only changed."

"Will this child be evil? What will it become?"

"Allow me to say that what I seek is the essence of the Old God that once was, and not the dark forces that corrupted it. Some things are worth preserving in this world. Make of that what you will."

"And what will become of the child?"

"That I do not wish to tell you."

"Alright…what if Alistair wishes to see him?"

"I have no doubt that he will. But he will not. This is all that I ask for in return."

"Why Alistair? Can't Riordan do this?"

"He has been tainted for too long. It must be Alistair and it must be tonight. So what say you?"

"All I can promise is that I will try."

"You must do better than that. I will wait in my in my room while you speak with him. You will need to be convincing." She turned and left the room.

Nuraya waited until the sounds of her footsteps faded down the hallway. She looked down at her hands and noticed they were shaking. Allowing the implications of this discussion to mingle with what she already suffered, became more than she could bear. The entire situation was a complete injustice. She was born a mage and would die as one and the others would continue to suffer. She loved a man and he loved her back until she decided to wreck that. All she wanted was to create some small and inconsequential space in this world where being a mage was considered a gift and not a curse. Less than an hour ago, she learned she would most likely die killing the Archdemon. Now she had a chance to save herself and Alistair. There was just one thing standing in the way. He was still furious with her and she doubt he'd trust any more of her schemes ever again.

Her hands shook more violently and she grabbed the tray and threw it across the room, screaming. This was not enough. Whatever she could reach, she hurled against the wall, onto the floor, into the fire, while cursing the world, condemning it all to the void. Collapsing, she pounded her fists over and over and over again on the stone floor. The pain was real, the only feeling she was capable of experiencing. She wailed and slammed the floor wanting to rid her pain, this inescapable agony. She begged the Maker to disconnect her from the Fade. Her ears filled with the sound of her shattering voice and she forgot to care who might be listening.

Suddenly, she realized she was being rocked and shushed. She let the tears stream down her face and heard herself breathlessly howl "I've failed…I've failed everyone!"

His hand stroked the back of her head, telling her it would be okay. Burying her eyes with her bleeding and painful hands, logic failed to resurface. Alistair carried her to her bed and wiped her face. She rocked back and forth, waiting for the numbness to return. He tended to her hands, smearing a healing salve on them. She watched, as if she found herself a new body, a new set of eyes and an alien world to examine. Time behaved differently, everything seemed to slow and speed up at the same time. Alistair manoeuvered around the broken glass on the floor and answered the door. Did someone knock? He was telling someone that everything was under control.

"Please, Nuraya, please talk to me" he pleaded, "I promise to listen. I will." She tried to form a thought. There were too many to communicate and they wanted to erupt all at once. He wiped more tears from her cheeks. His eyes, she focused on his eyes. She had nothing left to say.

"Nothing I do has any worth," she managed. Even that did not seem to communicate the magnitude of emotion that lie under those words. She sounded so trivial, so mundane and matter of fact.

"I heard Morrigan in here. Did she say something to upset you?"

All Nuraya could do was laugh.

"What? Please just talk to me. I know our situation is difficult. I can't bear to see you like this any longer."

"Morrigan knows a way to prevent the Grey Wardens from dying after the Archdemon is slain." She told this to him evenly, without a hint of hope or expectation. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked. "I said I would consider her proposal. But, I think I must go and decline. That is all."

"You aren't going anywhere. You need to sleep. Never mind her."

"Okay." She curled up in a fetal position on the bed. Her chaotic mind could not come up with an argument. She did not even know where to start. There was only one decision to be made. She would make the sacrifice. It was the last thing she could do to turn things right.

Alistair set the room straight while Nuraya watched. The numbness returned as her eyes followed him about the room. He blew out the candle and went back to his room.

She drifted in that place between awake and sleep, too apprehensive to fall into either. The dreams made so little sense now and in her confusion she grew afraid. Her waking realm was collapsing around her. There was nothing she could hold on to, nothing to focus on, only a complete absence of hope. She was churning in a ferocious sea of pain and failure, where death was the only outcome. Curled up, holding what was left of herself, she just wanted to dissolve, to fade away.

A numbing sleep must have overcome her. Alistair coaxed her awake. How long had he been there? Her head was aching. Embarrassed, she investigated the mess she had made. Alistair left a pile of broken glass and pottery in a corner. She got out of bed and started to prepare herself.

"Are you ready?" he asked. He was dressed and ready.

"To die?" she replied.

"Come on, you can't tell the future." There was a hint of optimism in his voice. She wondered where he had found it.

"Let me be clear, that if Riordan fails, the responsibility will then fall to me."

"Nuraya…"

She held up a hand to prevent any further discussion as she continued to buckle her straps and tighten her laces. "Let's just say that I came to terms with that inevitability last night. Let's speak no more of it."

* * *

_Bioware owns all. I can take credit for Nuraya's angst. Again, Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider, thanks for your Beta magic...you add a certain touch of Lyrium to the story. It would not be the same without you! Also a shout out to z0riah, heart-of-a-dark-dragon, nh09jrb, ren'ai-iki, Dieddarker and BurningTheMidnightOil for your reviews and alerts. Happy 4th of July to my American readers! Also you from Sweden and Singapore - good to see you on board! Are you ready for the Archdemon readers? Stay tuned for **Chapter 21: The Redeemer**. I also take requests for quicker updates if you can't stand the wait! Thanks for stopping by!_


	21. Chapter 21: The Redeemer

She led the company directly to Denerim. The once quiet highways were now crowded with soldiers from every Fereldan outpost. The Dwarves and the Dalish followed rank, their expressions filled with determination. The sound of leather and metal echoed steadily over the rolling hills of the Fereldan countryside. A group of Circle mages surrounded Tandyr, slowing him to a canter. Together they sang a song of rebellion, one she had only read about in books. Nuraya wondered if the melody had been remembered from a time long past, or if a particularly clever and musically inclined mage had composed a new one.

The Mages march to war!

Andraste's gift,

The Maker's fist,

We rally upon Fereldan shores!

We come in aide of weakened men!

March we all o'er field and glen,

With staff and rod, we bravely fight

And conjure only Maker's light

Our connections wrought in times of old

Let's break our bonds from Kinloch Hold!

Each Mage filed past and donated lyrium, healing potions and other draughts to aide her in battle. Some cast protective spells, although she knew these were purely ceremonial in nature, as their effects would dissipate long before her arrival to the city. Some called out the name that the thrushes had whispered on rooftops over the last few weeks: Nuraya the Liberator. Although she did not consider herself worthy of the title, she nodded and saluted each man and woman who declared it. The honours they bestowed on the long road to Denerim filled her hollowed heart. All of them would be worth her sacrifice.

The horizon glowed red and orange, reflecting off the oppressive clouds, now choked with the fowl fires of Darkspawn rage. Quickening Tandie's pace, her heart began to pound in her chest as his hooves pounded the earth. This would be her moment, the only one she had left to offer to the mages, as a symbol of hope and perseverance. Alistair joined her at the vanguard, maneuvering past the stray mages who had become separated from the crowd. His brow furrowed as he studied the caustic glow of the city in the valley below.

"You have quite the following, Commander," he said.

She snapped the reigns and called out to Tandyr. "Then let us give them something to fight for." Tandyr sprinted headlong down the slope and toward the besieged capital with Alistair following close behind. At the city gates, they waited for their company to arrive. The crowd quickly grew. Familiar faces appeared in front: Sten, Wynne, Lel and Zev. Eamon soon joined their ranks along with Teagan and the men from camp. Jaska joined his Dalish brethren and Nuraya even caught sight of Tarben wielding a colossal maul. Bhelen's men crowded beside Oghren, clutching axes of all sizes. Nuraya caught Telari Cousland's eyes and received an approving nod. The chanting of war-songs erupted from the masses in Dalish and Common. The sound was deafening and bolstered Nuraya's confidence even more. As she surveyed the masses, she beheld the product of all her accomplishments since leaving Kinlock Hold. After giving the crowd a little more time to assemble, Alistair stood in front of the gates of the city. Acrid smoke wafted over the battlements and created an even greater sense of urgency.

Alistair began his address. His tone was befitting a great leader. Never before had she felt more certain of her influence to accept the Fereldan throne. He spoke as if he were born for that very moment.

"Before us stand the might of the Darkspawn hoard. Gaze upon them now! But fear them not!"

He motioned to Nuraya. She dismounted Tandie and joined him on his make-shift stage. Banners snapped in the smoky wind, the waning sunlight reflected the glow of weapons and armor. The depth of the assembled filled her with awe.

"The woman you see before me is a native of Fereldan, risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens. She is proof that glory is within reach of us all. She has survived despite to odds and without her none of us would be here. As a mage she demonstrates that we all have an honoured place within this land!

Today we save Denerim. Today we avenge the death of my brother King Cailan. But most of all, we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honour their sacrifice. For Fereldan! For the Grey Wardens!"

The crowd responded with a thunderous roar and poured through the city gates. Nuraya ran to Telari.

"I give you Tandyr as your ward. Use him to beat through our enemy. He shows no fear. If he should perish in his task, I will know that he was well-guarded. If I should perish, I will die knowing he will be in excellent hands."

Telari closed her eyes and nodded solemnly. Nuraya nuzzled him, pressing her cheek against his cool chaffron. She spoke parting hopeful words, but refused to bid him farewell.

"I look forward to that moment when I will pass his reigns over to you once again." Equipped in full armor befitting a master archer, Telari embraced Nuraya and kissed her cheek. "We shall meet at the Gnawed Noble for drinks later."

Nuraya returned to her company and instructed Sten to take Wynne and Leliana. Looking over the crowd she searched for Morrigan. She had not seen her for hours. Did she depart with them at Castle Redcliffe? The entire journey was a blur and she could not remember. With Alistair, Zev and Oghren they ran headlong in the opposite direction to prevent the Darkspawn from invading the city.

~0oOo0~

The bowels of the Deep Roads shat all manner of devilry upon the city gates. Nuraya found herself separated from her company in the ensuing chaos. The streets were choked with a thick stench of smoke and death. Chaos hung heavy in the air and wood frame buildings burned. Her eyes watered in the searing haze and she searched out for a familiar face, a recognizable banner or an identifiable voice amidst the maelstrom of the Darkspawn's single-minded genocide. The only companion she had left on this earth was Galdorbryne, that elegant piece of silverite she bestowed her affections upon. Sometimes she had to wonder if an ingenious smith had hammered some form of consciousness within its hilt.

Clearing a small area near the ramparts, she saw a soldier sleeping eternally against the wall. She did not recognize him, but took pity upon the family that he would leave behind.

"I shall not fail you," she said aloud and made for the bridge.

Her mind was pure mayhem. Her warden-ability signaled a thousand alarms. There was no way that she would be able to single out Alistair in this madness. From beneath these deranged omens, she was aware of another sound intruding upon her thoughts. _Release me! Release me!_ The Archdemon must be close. It no longer needed her dreams for interference. The pounding of her heart synchronized with these pulsing appeals. Instead of expending extra energy to suppress it, she used it as a sort of war drum. It offered her a meditation. _Release me! Release me!_ She sliced every beast she encountered. Nothing blocked her path.

Behind a stone wall, she recognized familiar sounds. This time, they were coming from outside of her mind. It was the din she had grown so accustomed to since joining the Grey Wardens: aggressive grunts and clamor of weaponry on his shield. Beating a path, she saw Alistair pounding back three hurlocks with little effort. She quickly checked his knee. It was stable and solid. She conjured flaming weapons and offered a healing spell for good measure. To prevent any further attacks, she held back the oncoming Darkspawn with fire and lightening. They swiftly slaughtered every beast behind the wall. Pulling his sword from his final kill he looked over and gave her a thumbs up.

"Nothing like a flaming sword to speed up the process," he grinned. "How are you managing?"

"I got separated from everyone for a while, but otherwise, the body count is mounting. Let's find the others."

They ran to the front of the gates. It was not difficult to spot the bright red beard or mistake Oghren's fowl curses. Sten braced and with a sweep, took down two genlocks working to reload their bows. Focusing on both companions, she healed again. She got to work clearing the area. She was amazed that how far her strength and inner reserves carried her. She did not need to reach inside her robe for a vial of lyrium. She would require them later, no doubt. Sheathing Galdorbryne, she launched a two-handed fireball and then spun around to paralyze a couple of rogue genlocks approaching Oghren from behind. He swung his axe over his shoulder and ran to her.

"Bloody nug-runners. We're out-numbered three to one! Get me into the city. My axe is thirsty for more of their foul blood!"

Nuraya heard her name and turned. Alistair stood with Riordan. She motioned for Oghren to join and ran to her gathering party. She completed a headcount. Morrigan was still absent. What happened to her? She turned to Leliana.

"Where is Morrigan? Did she even arrive in Denerim?"

"She was with us when we left Redcliffe. Perhaps she was separated in the chaos."

Nuraya patted Leliana on the shoulder in acknowledgement and joined Alistair and Riordan.

"We're doing better than I had hoped," Riordan said to her.

"Have you a plan?" she asked.

"The army will not last long. We need to move in quickly to reach the Archdemon. I suggest taking Alistair and no more than two others with you into the city. Anyone you don't bring with you will remain here to prevent more Darkspawn from entering Denerim on our tails."

"How are we to fight a flying dragon?" She looked skyward for a sign.

"We're going to need to reach a highpoint in the city. I'm thinking the top of Fort Drakon might work."

"The top of the tower?" asked Alistair, "you want to draw the dragon's attention?"

"We have little choice, though I warn you that as soon as we engage the beast it will call all its generals to help it. I can sense two generals in Denerim. You may wish to seek them out before going to Fort Drakon."

"I'm sure that if we did slay these Generals, it would stop the Darkspawn in the city from doing a lot of harm," Leliana added. Nuraya had to agree.

"It may also waste resources trying to find them. The decision is up to you."

"Do you know where these generals are?" Nuraya asked.

"Neither of them are near Fort Drakon currently, but there are too many Darkspawn here to tell you more. Who do you wish to take into the city?"

"Oghren, Sten and Zev will come." She turned to Alistair as if to offer an apology.

"Fair enough. The rest of your party will remain here in keeping more Darkspawn from coming in the gates. Who will lead them?"

"Alistair."

"Are you serious? I should be going to Fort Drakon!" he said with equal hints of anger and hurt in his tone.

She turned to him, slightly annoyed. He knew what this implied, so she answered "Ferelden needs their king."

Riordan stepped forward. "Nothing you have done has prepared you for what you face now. May the maker watch over you."

Riordan walked off toward the gates, leaving Nuraya with her party for the last time. She looked over each of their faces, and tried to etch each of them deep into her consciousness.

"Before I face the horde that stands before us, I want to take this last chance to honor each of you. Without you, I would not have come this far. Each one of you holds a place in my heart. And if I do not see you again on this side of the Veil, know your role in this was both cherished and essential." Her words seemed to fall short of the feeling that swelled in her heart.

Wynne approached and offered her a tight hug. "So this is it then, all that we have been through has led up to this. Whatever happens now…to either of us, know that I am proud—infinitely proud—to have called you friend. Onward then, and may the Maker smile upon us."

She walked over to Leliana. "I respect your decision to keep me here, even though I would have gladly stood by your side, even to the death."

"I know, Leliana. I shall miss your songs. I didn't get a chance to hear the one you wrote about me."

"Ah, of course. I shall play it for you after you complete your task. It is a song of celebration." Leliana showed a brave face. Nuraya knew this would not be the case and she appreciated her optimism. She hoped the song made mention of Tandyr and Galdorbryne. It would seem lacking without either, she thought ruefully.

"And the last thing I will ask of you dear Nuraya, is to bring Zev back in one piece. I have little doubt that the Maker will be with you, every step of the way."

This task was becoming increasingly difficult. She approached Alistair with much trepidation. He took no time to embrace her in the way she would always remember—strong, with a suggestion of tenderness. She did not want to let go, yet she had expected this moment ever since he cracked his first joke with her at Ostagar. Thinking of everything they had endured together, she believed that at the very least, she was able to show Thedas that templars and mages had the capacity to work together toward a common goal. She hoped that Leliana would include that in her song a well.

"First, I want to say how incredibly proud I am of you, Nuraya. What are the odds that a Circle Mage would find herself facing the Archdemon alone? I may not have the power to change the fate of the mages in Ferelden, but I have a feeling that you have done that on your own. I remember something you said to me a long time ago. You said you wanted to face the Archdemon as yourself. You will, Nuraya Amell, Battle-mage Grey Warden. I also want to apologize for the past few days. I know they have been difficult. They have for me as well."

"You have nothing to apologize for Alistair. When you are bored witless reading more trade documents, try not to blame me," she forced a smile. He took her hand and held it to his heart.

"You will always be a part of me. Miracles do happen; I just may see you again. Let us hang onto hope that Riordan knows what he is doing." This was more than she could bear. The feigned hope was too much. She kissed him one last time.

"My love for you shall extend beyond the Fade, Alistair. You believed in me, despite everything that I have done."

"You are a woman with a single purpose. I greatly respect you. I love you more than you can imagine. Do me one favor, will you?"

"Anything. Anything for you."

"Go kick the Archdemon's ass for me." He turned and stood behind the party he would command to save Denerim.

~0oOo0~

Sten eliminated the second and final Darkspawn General. Had Nuraya not been attacked from behind, she would have rushed in to help. Falling to the ground, she looked up in time to see the maul materialize inches from her face and she rolled far enough away to see it smash the cobbled road to gravel. Luckily, she did not need to stand in order to cast paralysis. The hurlock, which she gathered was the leader of its unit, froze with its mouth curled in a snarl, bearing its serrated jaw. On her feet she took her sword in hand and jabbed it between the eyes and with both hands, wrenched it clockwise to ensure maximum damage. As soon as the spell wore off, it slumped and fell forward with a thud.

"Sodding Deep Roads Dung!" growled Oghren as he spat upon the fallen hurlock. "I thought you were a gonner for sure. This magic business sure comes in handy in a pinch. I could sure use that one at Tapsters…you know when the ladies play hard to get."

Nuraya just looked at him blankly. He snickered again and swung his axe over his shoulder.

"Don't mind me…all this Blight business makes me giddy."

She and Oghren joined Sten and investigated the area for any remaining Darkspawn.

"We are clear, _Kadan_. Let us make for Fort Drakon."

"Let's get this over with," she said and whistled for Zevran.

Through the damaged streets and back alleys they ran, assisting the soldiers where they could. The Darkspawn continued to pour into the city. She worried about the others she left at the front gate.

The call of the Archdemon was unrelenting. The closer they came to the tower's approach, the louder its demands howled inside her head. She could almost feel the vibrations of its voice. _Release me! Release me! _The pressure settled into her brow, and the weight of the words pulled her expression into a scowl. _I am coming_, she told the voice. _I will release you._ Zevran drew their attention to the top of the tower.

Riordan had reached the top of Fort Drakon and swung his sword viciously at the Archdemon. She could not tell from her standpoint if he landed his marks. The Archdemon reared and retched flame at the Warden. The mesmeric appeals in her head retreated and she wondered if Riordan's assaults neared victory. Her head filled with a piercing drone of warnings and turned to see that a mob of Darkspawn was closing in on them. Tearing her eyes from the sky, she called a warning to her troops and composed inferno in a cramped, blank recess in her mind. As she completed its image and song, she unleashed her fury of flame onto the seething throng.

Zevran launched arrows in quick succession and the others set to work on those that escaped the blaze on the periphery.

She looked quickly to the sky and saw Riordan now straddled the Archdemon's neck while soaring above them. Following their flight path proved to be difficult while managing the enemy on the ground. She cast a little used spell in her repertoire and surrounded herself in a protective force field. Although completely immune to damage she was immobilized and could not draw her arms or cast offensive magic. She did manage a few spells to further incapacitate the surviving Darkspawn now closing in on the rest of her party. This allowed her to keep a temporary eye on the Archdemon, to keep close watch on Riordan as he wheeled above. She strained to observe the detail, which was difficult given their speed and distance.

Now dangling from the dragon's side, Riordan clung to his impaled daggers. The Archdemon continued to call out to her and she allowed it the space in her mind to plead. It pitched sideways and she assumed that Riordan had hindered its ability to fly. Upward, with effort, it yawed, managing to recover and continue its ascent to the peak of the city. The Archdemon careened and shuddered; Riordan lost his grip. In horror, she watched him fall. There would be no surviving the impact. Offering a quick prayer of thanks she realized the fate of Ferelden now rest with her.

Riordan's last gift was to prevent the Archdemon from having any chance for escape. It was now trapped on the roof of Fort Drakon, unable fly any distance. It called to her, begging and pleading, desperation now wailing inside her head. She had to get to the roof.

~0oOo0~

She fought through the Darkspawn that infested the tower. Her mind drew her upward while her sword kept her focused on the enemy in front. The droning _Release me! Release me_! impelled her forward with a ferocity she had not realized lay dormant inside her. Balancing between swordplay and magic, she maintained an awareness to include Sten, Oghren and Zev. Rejuvenating, healing, and of course conjuring every deadly spells she knew. Her mouth burned from too much lyrium and her fingers smoked.

Running up the final staircase, she flung open the door and ran to the centre of the roof.

Was it night, or had darkness completed consumed the city? There it was, exactly as she had seen it in her dreams. It was impossibly large, much grander and far more terrifying than Flemeth. It hissed and growled a roar, so guttural that it shook the stone beneath her feet. Archers pierced it with arrows and it reared, seizing the closet soldier and with a sickening shake, flung his expired body across the roof. Snapping its neck back, its burning eyes fixed on her. In recognition, it bared its dagger-sized teeth at her, spit fire and roared so loudly she could feel its hot breath through her hair. The voice inside her head was deafening, screaming, wailing, to the point where she lost all grasp of her faculties. Zevran rushed over and in consternation, helped her to her feet. She had not realized that she had fallen. She shook her head and assured him that she was fine. Inside her mind she roared back, _I will release you! _She turned to her company.

"Fall back, Zevran and aim for the head! Oghren and Sten, cover me. Signal when you need healing. No one is to strike the Archdemon but me. You're risking enough on top of this festering tower!"

They nodded and got into position as she sheltered them with protective spells.

Redcliffe's soldiers came pouring in from the stairwells and the Dwarves took positions to prevent the swarm of Darkspawn from heeding its master's call. The Circle mages stood upon the parapets, offering aid, protection and weakening the countless beasts arriving for their final stand. She raised Galdorbryne and kissed the centre of the hilt and raised it aloft, over her head and barreled toward the writhing dragon, landing her first strike deep into its foreleg. Her arms shuddered as she bypassed the tough scale, and connected with the soft tissue beneath. Extracting her weapon, she heard a wounded yowl and its massive leg pushed her aside with little effort. Landing on her back, she crawled on her belly to access its more vulnerable underside. The one thing she clearly recalled from her confrontation with Flemeth was the lack of thick scale underneath. She was determined to strike deep into the beast's heart. To get there, she dodged its stampeding legs and its whipping tail that counterbalanced its massive body. Finally, she inched her way and crouched, ready to pounce. She checked her grip and with two hands, sprung upwards, feeling the sword penetrate its flesh and warm ooze gush over her head and shoulders. Preparing for another assault, she wiped the greasy black gore from her hands to ensure a steady grip. The Archdemon lifted off the ground, sprayed fire and made for a parapet on the corner of the keep. It was untouchable for now.

How her men had faired during this first assault, she didn't know. Scanning the chaos of the keep, she first spotted Oghren with a small group of Dwarves, beating back six Hurlocks. Sten was engaged with three more, while Zevran perched upon a window dormer, aimed and struck a genlock about to attack Nuraya. She spied a ballista in range of the Archdemon. Signaling to Zevran, she ran up the platform and cleared the area of Darkspawn. She watched Zevran's sinewy form dash across the keep, somersaulting to avoid direct attacks and wielding serpentine daggers, to backstab when the opportunity arose.

"Yes my dear Warden?" he announced when he arrived, breathlessly.

"You can manage this?" She motioned to the ballista with her elbow as she set a pair of Genlocks on fire. "I'll cover you. Weaken that thing. I need to draw it back to the centre of the keep."

He took command of the weapon and loaded a missile, while Nuraya set it aflame. He aimed and hit the Archdemon in the hindquarters. As Zevran scrambled to load more ammunition, Nuraya beat back the continuing assaults. Hurlocks and genlocks bellowed as she aimed Galdorbryne in decapitating sweeps. Her arms began to tremble and she yearned for a break in the assault to replenish her draining reserves.

Zevran called down to her, "We're out of bolts!" He jumped down and with stinging daggers and led her down from the parapet.

The Archdemon returned, its injured wing hung limp at its side. Running behind Zevran she dosed herself again and noticed she was down to three lyrium vials. It would have to suffice. For what seemed like hours, although time had taken on mysterious properties, she concentrated on the Archdemon's physical assault, wanting to save her lyrium for an absolute emergency. Again it heaved itself, flopping away in the air to another safe vantage point, away from her hungry blade. So fixated, she paid little attention to the tedious droning voice. Zevran called out to her again and they continued their attacks from a nearby ballista. They performed their ritual three more times.

As she ran back to the center of the roof, she took a moment to locate Sten and Oghren. They were nowhere to be seen. Near the northwest corner she spied a shock of brilliant red beard. Dashing to her fallen comrade, she assessed his condition. Relieved that he lived, she did another sweep of the area in search of Sten. He was propped against the eastern wall, his head fallen to the side with an arrow in his thigh. Checking his pulse, she couldn't believe her fortune. He'd make it as well. Now she had to get them closer together. She had enough in her to revive the both of them, but they needed to be in same area. Lifting Sten by the boots she started to drag him.

"Sod this!" she said out loud and dropped his feet with a thud and ran back to Oghren, beating back a few stray genlocks that escaped Zevran's gaze. This would have to be done with steel alone, as she dared not use what was left of her power. Oghren was stout and hefty as well, but at least more manageable than the Qunari. She dragged him toward Sten, stopping to defend herself when required and keeping an eye on the Archdemon. The Dalish continued their ranged assault as it licked its wounds out of reach. Zev joined her. She reached into her robe and passed him two healing potions.

"As soon as I am done, get these into them." He nodded and dragged Sten toward her.

"How are you?" she asked, after dropping Oghren's legs, satisfied that they were close enough to adequately receive the effects of her spell.

"Nothing makes me feel more alive than death, dear Warden!" Zevran's optimism could not be hindered. She tossed him a healing potion as well. She took the last one, not even having the sense to tell whether she needed it or not.

"Cover me," she said to Zevran, and stood back. Reviving fallen comrades was a tricky spell and had a better rate of success in calmer surroundings. It was often performed after battle, but she dared not wait. Remembering the fever that Wynne had her endure, she hoped it provided her the added power that Wynne had promised. Exhausted from taming the Archdemon's voice, she focused on the inside of Sten and Oghren's minds to locate the centre of their awareness. Holding this, along with the complex rune and its accompanying chorus of haphazard notes, she synchronized her thoughts and ushered the diverse images together. Inhaling, the power she conjured emanated in a rapid pulse and penetrated her fallen brethren. As soon as their eyes opened, she and Zev were able to administer the healing potions, just as the shadow of the Archdemon slithered overhead.

"This is it. Get yourselves together. I'm going to take this thing down now!"

She ran, with all the energy she could muster and resumed her assault. It bled profusely but scattered her across the courtyard with a sweep of its spiny tail. Returning to her feet, she was violently knocked forward and heard a sickening crack in her shoulder. Her left arm hung limp and she scrambled on her good hand and knees to escape another direct hit. Where was her cover?

"By the ancestors get on those spindly girly legs Magey! I got your back!"

Stumbling forward, she ran toward the Archdemon again, using all of her power to heal herself. It was enough to give her some limited movement, but unfortunately not enough to take away the pain. She landed another deep gash into its neck. Its pleas became more desperate, sadder even. Holding Galdorbryne in her fist, she plunged it deep within its head and it flopped weakly.

She heard a commotion behind her. Now accustomed to ignoring the rioting and rampaging inside and outside her head, she distanced herself from the Archdemon to give herself a running start. Her arm agonized her and she became aware of every sprain and bruise that covered her battered body. Soon the pain would be gone. Soon there would be peace. A quiet would settle in her mind and she would be invited to enter the Fade. Amidst the chaos behind her she heard a name she never thought she'd hear again:

"Alistair! Stop!" It was Leliana.

Alistair charged toward the Archdemon. Nuraya, almost dreamily, closed her eyes and raced toward the Archdemon head on. She had no time to rationalize why he and Leliana were on the roof. She was driven with a single purpose— to release the Archdemon from its torment and herself from this existence. She sensed a shock of energy flow through her. What little lyrium she had rebuilt disappeared and her connection to the Fade was severed. Galdorbryne dropped from her hand. With no magic, she was unable to wield her weapon. Alistair used his templar abilities on her! Never before had he ever wielded this power against her. Even when attacked by mages in their journeys past, he would only resort to it when Nuraya was incapacitated. But he used it against her now.

She picked up a crude Darkspawn dagger and tried to catch up to Alistair. She screamed his name, screamed for him to stop. His stubborn streak was as strong as hers. He punctured the Archdemon's neck at the shoulder and dragged his sword up its serpentine neck and landed the killing blow between its eyes.

Nuraya was immobilized. She was screaming. Landing on her knees, an extraordinary flash of dazzling light radiated from the Archdemon's corpse. Deep within her soul, she sensed gratitude and her mind hushed.

A massive shockwave of energy threw her back and darkness took her. She was aware, yet she wanted to sleep. Something inside her urged her awake. Opening her eyes, she looked up to find herself engulfed in fire and dust. Crawling on all fours and ignoring the raging pain in her shoulder, she made for the Archdemon's corpse.

The implications of the entire scene were just starting to sink in. She heard the moans of the injured and men weeping for the fallen. There was also cheering. In the smoke, she got to her feet and stumbled around the body, desperately looking. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of his armor. Someone approached her in a moment of celebration; she refused to acknowledge and lumbered in a daze toward his crumpled body.

She placed Alistair in her lap and removed his helmet. He was pale and bruised. A deep gash trailed from his temple down to his cheek. Now that she realized that she lived and he lay dead in her arms. Her screaming turned to a maniacal repetition of "No! No!" as she rocked him in her arms.

"What have you done Alistair. It was supposed to be me… come back to me…don't leave me alone…don't leave me within this madness…" She held him up to her cheek and kissed it, continuing to rock and chant her incoherence.

"Dear Warden, come, let's get out of here." It was Zevran and Leliana. She also noticed the Sten and Oghren were close behind. The filth and blood from their work did not hide their sad expressions.

"No…" she whispered, holding Alistair closer.

"You're badly injured Nuraya, let's go find Wynne," Leliana said, leaning down and held out her hand.

"I said NO!" She continued to rock and wipe the blood from his face. She heard the party whispering behind her and wished they would just leave her alone.

His face was so still, his lips curled in the way they would before he would crack a joke to ease the tension. She ran her fingers through his hair, all mussed and caked with blood. She caught a glint on his neck. Perhaps she could have just one memory of him. Throwing off her gauntlets and gloves, she touched the charm, expecting it to be the one that had once belonged to his mother, but it was one she had never seen before. It was a delicate golden disk with the rune _kalle_ inscribed in the centre. Fire. She recalled all those months ago in the Circle library explaining arcane geometry to him. The cord was also curious. She rubbed it between her fingers and then released in astonishment. It was a finely woven hair—her hair. She wasn't sure whether to feel revolted or honored. She had discarded her braid by a river somewhere between Denerim and Redcliffe. Reaching behind his neck, she searched for clasp so she could remove it.

"You know it's a crime against the crown to steal from the dead." She looked up to see who would dare make such a comment at this time. Turning to gaze at Alistair one last time, she realized his eyes were open.

* * *

_Disclaimer: This is Bioware's sandbox, I just make sandcastles. Of course my thanks go out to my Betas Kira Tamarion and Doorbellspider. Tip o' the Hat to ye. And you, my dear reader have made it this far. Ding Dong the Archdemon is dead! I hope you didn't think I was about to get rid of my beloved Nuraya! I may be cruel...but who will free the mages? Someone has got to do it! We're nearing the end folks...Stay Tuned for Chapter 22: Remedy._


	22. Chapter 22: Remedy

"Go to get some rest, Nuraya. I can take care of things for a while."

Wynne rested her hands on Nuraya's shoulders. Dawn was starting to filter into the room at the Palace, scattering the shadows and tinting the stone with golden warmth. The royal guard had managed to keep the horde from penetrating the keep but the same could not be said for the rest of the city. As she was taken from the roof of Fort Drakon, thunder rumbled and a deluge of rain fell upon what survived. At least it would drench the city and quell the fires that burned. The city lie in ruin, many of the streets were now skeletal shades of their former glory. Stone walls would suffer scars and wooden frames smouldered after their fires had been doused.

Nuraya refused to move from Alistair's bedside and insisted on performing a majority of the healing. He had a serious concussion, a broken ulna and a couple cracked ribs. _Not bad, considering the circumstances—he should be dead_. Hours had passed since the royal guard had brought him to the palace on a stretcher. He had not remained conscious for long and she was anxious for an optimistic sign.

"I'll be fine. I have the rest of my life for sleep," Nuraya said after she checked his bandages and smoothed out his coverlet.

Wynne was growing impatient. She was tearing strips of linen and soaking them in a healing tonic. "I promise to come and get you the minute he wakes up, can we at least agree to that?"

Nuraya looked up and smiled, wearily. "You're not going to let me win this one, are you?"

"Child, you've already won one war, I'm not interested in starting another. At least get cleaned up. Get all that Darkspawn filth off you." Under her white apron, she was still wearing the tunic and breeches that she wore under her armor. She sighed in resignation and collected the rest of her belongings. Nuraya wasn't even sure where she would be staying and hesitated as she went to leave the room.

Wynne stood over Alistair, holding her hands over his head. Without looking up, she said "Across the hall, my dear. We knew better than to keep you very far."

"I don't care how soundly I sleep…"

"Yes Nuraya, the minute he opens his eyes, I'll come fetch you."

She collapsed in the feather bed and then decided it was a bad idea to dirty the baudekin coverlet edged with soft ermine. Stripping off her filthy garments, she tossed them with the rest of her belongings in a corner, wanting to distance herself from the stench, but not ready to part with them altogether. As she sponged herself in the prepared bath, she noticed she was still covered in angry purple and yellow bruises. Her shoulder still pained, but her head was quiet. That alone offered enough respite. When she finished scraping what remained of her confrontation with the Archdemon, she wondered what she should wear. She did not exactly pack another change of clothes. A cotton shift lay over an ornately carved scissor chair. Assuming that it was intended for her, she covered her battered bones. Crawling into the bed, she sunk in and pulled back the draperies from the bedpost. Despite not having a plot to devise or a problem to worry over, her mind continued to churn. Learning how Alistair survived the final kill, was only one. If she was not so exhausted, she would venture out to learn of what happened to Tandyr, Telari, Jaska...and Morrigan. Had Anders made it to Amaranthine? As a powerful wave of sleep overcame her, she worried about her father in Dungarven and then thought of her half-sister locked somewhere in the Palace dungeons. Eventually, she was too tired to cling to any more thoughts. Nuraya slept dreamlessly for the first time in a year.

~0oOo0~

The hours dissolved and she had no sense of time or schedule. How long she slept remained a mystery. By the angle of the shadows in the room, she guessed that it was late afternoon. As her eyes slowly blinked open and adjusted to the light, she remarked how uplifting it felt to naturally slip from sleep instead of waking in terror and sweat. She wandered about the room and stretched. Someone must have come in and taken away her filthy belongings and replaced them with clothing less befitting of a haggled warrior. A dress hung over a changing screen. She fingered the exquisite loden green gown embellished with golden embroidery, but had no desire to quickly fit into the costume of the Fereldan noble. She opted for practicality: leather breaches, a black linen tunic and boots. The only finery she approved of was a chainmail belt. Out of habit, she looked for her sword but remembered that it was not necessary and more haltingly, realized it had gone missing. She had remembered it falling abruptly from her hands on Fort Drakon, but the aftermath was a blur. She tried to let go and in her mind, part ways with the weapon. Even though she believed she had little use for it in the coming months, it was still a great loss. As she mourned Galdorbryne, she noticed a letter on the desk.

She turned it over in her hands. It was on the sort of vellum that lay scattered throughout Ferelden; there was no sense of formality about it. It also lacked a seal. Her mind appraised the possibilities of the contents, which made her more reluctant to read it. The folded paper held some sort of finality to it, whomever the sender. She guessed it offered some form of closure, whether good or bad. Perhaps this was a message from the Mages Collective, berating her for being a total disappointment, or maybe someone encountered Flemeth and would use her secret as a form of blackmail. She took a deep breath and unfolded it, hoping it was not the dreaded "good-bye" letter all lovers fear to receive.

_So the rumours are true. Your powers of persuasion are formidable, even I will admit. I was doubtful Chantry-boy would agree to the ritual, but he did. He asked me to disappear afterwards and thought I owed him that, at the very least. I do regret not saying goodbye. For a Circle mage, you are certainly full of surprises. Rumors spread that a liberator has risen in Ferelden. I almost wish I was around to help. Perhaps another time. But, remember our deal and allow me to disappear. I remain your friend, Morrigan. _

_P.S. Just between you and me, I know my mother lives. All I needed was the grimoire, and I thank-you for that. I never believed she would let you succeed. Your secret is safe with me. _

Nuraya read the letter carefully twice, digesting the implications. She winced at the revelation regarding Flemeth. Morrigan's tone in the short letter did not reveal anger. Regardless, Nuraya was not lost on the fact that she had been duped as well; all seemed to equal out in that regard. Then there was the matter concerning Alistair and the ritual. He sought out Morrigan on his own. He prevented her death. But why prevent her from inflicting the final blow? Why the whole charade of draining her of her ability to cast magic? She took the letter and tossed it on the glowing embers in the fireplace.

As she watched the vellum burn, she heard a tapping on the window. Opening the sash wide, she was confronted with a flapping of feathers. Nuraya jumped out of the way. A grey owl landed on the back of a chair and spread its wings. Before Nuraya could blink, she was face-to-face with Fiona once again.

"Congratulations. You keep your secrets well, mage. I always knew Duncan was a good judge of character."

Nuraya closed her eyes and looked down. The elf had no idea how difficult her secret was to bare. "It hasn't been easy. It's also not fair to Alistair. He deserves to know that at least his mother is alive. I did what you asked of me. You could at least do that for me in return."

Fiona put a finger to her lips. Someone was in the hallway. Nuraya heard the footfalls fade into the castle and relaxed.

"Not yet." Fiona whispered.

"Why? He will be king."

Fiona nodded, and paced the room. Her doeskin boots made no sound on the wooden floor. She was as silent as a cat. Nuraya sat down on the bed. After everything that had just happened to her, speaking with Fiona seemed rather benign. She already had her hopes and dreams taken away. Nothing scared Nuraya anymore. Fiona sat beside her and put an arm around her and pulled her close. Nuraya could feel her petite frame, but at the same time could sense she was far from frail.

"I see in your heart. I see him there."

Nuraya stared evenly in her almond-shaped eyes, trying to guess what she would say next.

"I could sense that when we spoke in the wood near Haven. Your ability to not use my secret to your own benefit, speaks about your character. Now I am certain that I chose well." Fiona closed her eyes and kissed Nuraya on the forehead. "I've been waiting a very long time for you."

Nuraya focused on practicalities. After spending hours in a healing vigil, she was accustomed to dealing with real-world matters. "So why must he wait? He lies across the hall. Go and heal him. Be a part of his life."

"And what are your intentions with him? Do you plan on challenging the Chantry?" Fiona whispered.

Nuraya was becoming frustrated that Fiona was dodging her questions. "I have decided that life in court is not my path. I don't know where my path is leading me. I was hoping that you might have some insight into that."

Fiona rubbed Nuraya's shoulder reassuringly. "I will call upon you when your help is needed. In the meantime, start your journey. You will not go astray. I will come to Alistair when there is an heir."

"An heir! That could be years!" That haunting pang of regret and sadness returned.

"I see that part of you that wishes for that path, but there can be no question where his child inherits his magic. His line is full of it. Maric carries a deep connection to an ancient magic. What he inherits from me only strengthens that power. Thedas must not question the power his children possess. You will play an even greater role that will extend far beyond the reach of Ferelden royalty. I see the path that leads before you. I promise it will not always be as full of sorrow as it is today."

Nuraya stood up and rubbed her arms in front of the hearth. Morrigan's letter was long gone, and a pile of glowing coals remained. She turned to continue her discussion with Fiona, but the elf had disappeared.

~0oOo0~

She crept quietly into Alistair's room. Wynne looked up and smiled, but Nuraya could tell that she was in need of rest.

"Go rest Wynne. I'll take over."

Wynne stretched and yawned, but seemed contented. Nuraya was relieved to see the fear and stress out of the creases in her forehead from the previous evening. Alistair's head injury concerned them greatly and the situation had been touch and go. Wynne guided Nuraya through the complex healing process, showing her how to probe his mind with her ability, to locate the source of the injury and how to remove it without inflicting harm upon herself. Nuraya was grateful Wynne had come to accept her as a healer. She had come a long way from her days of gaining skill surreptitiously.

"And how are you?" Despite Wynne's weariness and the mayhem over the last few days, she was always a healer first.

"Well rested. Stiff, but considering everything that has happened, I think I am remarkably well."

"I would have to agree. So, I shall get these weary bones to bed. Alistair's progress is slow but shows improvement. I used a sleep spell on him; I think that will encourage the mind to heal as well. As for everything else, his bandages have been changed—he won't need them after today anyway. His waters are a good colour and I have taken care of that as well. I was able to get a good amount of broth into him, so don't worry about that for at least three more hours…" she was about to continue on. Nuraya put her arm around her and walked with her toward the door.

"Then I think I have this well in hand, Wynne."

"And one more thing…keep all those nosy nobles away. I know that boy well and he will have enough of that once he is on his feet."

"That, you need not worry over."

Wynne kissed her on the cheek and smiled. "I don't know what happened, but I am sure glad the both of you made it through. The mysteries of our Maker continue to amaze even an old fuss like me. I'm so proud of you child. And Irving and I hold hope that you can make a life with Alistair and change things for the—"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Wynne. I don't think I'm destined for public life." Wynne started to protest, but Nuraya quelled her encouragements. "Go get some rest Wynne before I send for Sten, or if you are particularly stubborn I'll get Oghren."

"Very well. We can discuss this later. And don't forget about your companions. They all wish to see you."

After Wynne left, Nuraya made herself comfortable beside Alistair and watched him. His golden hair poked over a clean bandage and his peculiar charm still hung around his neck. His breathing was steady and she meditated on the rise and fall of his chest. His boyishness was beginning to ripen into the man, into a King. She held his hand and watched his features, now deep in slumber, but finally relaxed.

Allowing her mind to wander into the days that lie ahead, she grew convinced that their paths were leading in separate directions. For the first time she allowed herself accept this eventuality. The longing and hurt might evaporate later. What surprised her, was that she was no longer drowning in the pain, it no longer had the power to pull her under and consume her. Did the Archdemon manage to release her from this as well, or did she come to this on her own? She would always hold him in her heart, that was clear.

No matter how fervent her love for him, she absolutely did not want a place in the palace. And despite how badly her heart desired to be with Alistair, another part of her, a stronger aspect now just beginning to emerge, firmly believed that what she wanted would be impossible to accomplish in court. What surfaced was a determination to be free and a complete distaste for politics and nobility. This would be Alistair's path, not hers. The palace represented another prison to her and this mage would not be fettered, this mage saw much potential in working outside the formalities of politics. She would never forget the feeling of her utter despair and willingness to give up everything. Alistair gave her another chance, and for that she was grateful. Determined not to waste it on self-pity, she refused to fall prey to her inner mind-tricks that tried to convince her that she was not good enough. Nuraya sighed and started to plan once again. For the first time, she looked forward to Fiona's enigmatic suggestions.

~0oOo0~

Leliana leapt from the breakfast table and rushed to embrace Nuraya.

"Let the Warden stand, dear Leli. She looks as if she has been up the whole night. Dancing in the moon I hope, friend!"

Zevran cheer was enough to brighten the room, although the demeanor of what remained of her company was already lively and full of joy. All except for Oghren, she noticed. He was either getting sober or drunk and it was difficult to tell the difference. His hand propped up his head, pushing up cheek and consequently his moustache. With glazed eyes he looked up and grinned wider.

"This calls for a drink, I reckon!" he slurred. Despite the timing, Nuraya was glad for his unfettered carousing.

"He hasn't stopped since he left the tower. We were hoping to get a good meal into him." Leliana sighed.

Leliana encouraged him with some fresh bread and ham. She wrinkled her nose as he exhaled in her direction and rejected her offers. Nuraya waved her away and sat beside him. She broke off pieces of breakfast from her plate and handed them to Oghren, to which he obediently accepted.

"Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon are eager to see you as well. They know you have been tending to Alistair. They invited us to stay here in Denerim until the King can celebrate the Hero of Ferelden."

Nuraya nearly choked on her tea as she continued to pass ham to Oghren.

"You can't mean that's what they're calling me! You saw what happened on the tower…"

"I suggested Victorious Flaming Fingers, but I lost that contest…" Oghren offered and then quietly hiccupped.

"Ferelden owes you their lives. Let them celebrate you. Set your modesty aside, no?"

"I'll do it for you, Leliana." Nuraya grinned and held her tea aloft in manner of a toast. She was already looking forward to finding a quiet village in Ferelden where she could live in obscurity. Ferelden would have to settle for that sort of hero. She noticed Sten, sitting quietly composed as usual.

"And what are you going to do to fill the time, Sten?" she asked. There would be more than enough weaponry and armor to polish and repair, but she hardly felt that was fair to burden him with such a task. Exactly what did a Qunari do during these periods of peace?

"I have volunteered to help rebuild the city gates. Your men are weak. I can perform a great many tasks and I do not wish to go soft." His charity was touching, yet the response seemed perfectly in line with her expectations of him.

"Let me know if I can be of any help then," she offered as she sliced an apple with a paring knife.

"Your offer is generous, but I believe your talents are better suited elsewhere." Instead of continuing a beguiling discussion involving Qun philosophy, Nuraya accepted his response as a compliment, if such an intention were even possible from his culture, and looked to Leliana and Zevran.

"And what about you two?"

"We will travel to Orlais when we finish the festivities. Leliana says she has some business she must attend to. And with my place in the Crows now severed, I thought it would be easy to slip amongst the coiffed beauties of the Orlesian court. I am sure fair Leliana will give chase to any wayward assassins." Leliana smiled reservedly, and placed a hand over his.

Nuraya could tell a deeper plan was hatching. Given that she focused so intently on her own situation over the past few months, she was not privy to what greater plans they made. They made no further attempts to elaborate, and Nuraya left it at that. She had come to respect a need for privacy.

"And how fares Alistair? I am sure if the situation were grave we would have heard by now." Leliana poured more tea into Nuraya's cup.

"His progress is slow, but he improves. Wynne has him in a deep slumber and thinks this will speed his healing."

Oghren also dozed, with his hand still propping up his head.

Leliana watched as his head teetered with each noisy snore. "Shall we move him? Lay him down maybe?"

"Just leave him. I am sure he'll pick up where he left off in a few hours." Nuraya said. She helped herself to some more potatoes when Wynne appeared in the dining hall.

"Come, he is awake, and asking for you." Wynne said.

~0oOo0~

Nuraya closed the door behind her, grateful that Wynne decided not to hover. He still looked asleep. Perhaps his awakening was momentary. Deciding to allow him more rest, despite her yearning to ask a thousand questions, she set about the room, tidying the used poultices and healing provisions. She hummed absentmindedly, something that she had not done for a very long time. Pausing as she folded a blanket and laid it at the foot of the bed, she heard her tune continue. She looked up at Alistair and smiled.

"I hardly get to hear you do that," he said, in a scratchy voice. She brought him a glass of water and helped him take a sip.

"Slowly, remember," she reminded him, still remaining somewhat distant, still playing her role as his healer. It was a safe activity; she only had to focus on how to improve his condition and not concern herself with her own pain.

"I heard that song before. You were brushing the horse. It's lovely."

Sitting by his bedside, she took his pulse and assessed his colour and complexion, seeing nothing to concern her. The fact that he was discussing her singing in the past was a good sign that his memory had not been severely affected.

"My mother used to sing it to me. Used to hum it a lot to keep myself from madness in the Tower." She decided to allow the small talk, to not burden him with her questions.

"You also sing when you're happy. So what is it today? Are your happy or preventing madness?"

"Today, I have few worries. Archdemon is dead, Loghain is no longer a threat and you're awake." She looked at his eyes and was satisfied that his pupils responded appropriately to the early morning light. Arrestingly, she started look into them, in that familiar way. No longer was she his healer. She grasped his hand and stroked the back of it on her cheek then kissed it. "I was not expecting this at all. I'm at a loss for words and grateful we are here."

"Mmm. About that," he whispered. She placed a finger on his lips and shook her head.

"Later. How is your head?"

"Throbbing."

She raised her hands to his temples but he weakly brushed them away.

"Don't. It reminds me that I am alive. Feels like the morning after a night with Oghren."

"Suit yourself." She offered him another drink of water. "I warn you now that when you've recovered I'll have to interrogate you."

He raised an eyebrow to acknowledge her comment and then shut his eyes. She continued to hum.

"Nuraya…"

"Yes Alistair?"

"I still love you."

"I know." She fell back into her song until she was certain he was asleep.

~0oOo0~

Later that evening and despite feeling compelled to sit at his bedside, she heeded everyone's advice and took a walk on the palace grounds. She felt guilty performing such an idle task when the rest of Denerim struggled to piece their lives and homes back together. The air smelled of burned wood and did nothing to keep her mind from what lie beyond the towering walls. To keep her guilt from festering, she continued to work over the newest plot roiling in her mind. Two figures distracted these thoughts. Nuraya could not contain her wide smile as she watched Telari exercising Tandyr in the courtyard. She ran.

He must have seen her coming and led Telari toward her. Nuraya embraced his broad silky neck with one arm and his lead with the other.

"A sight for sore eyes indeed!" She could not contain her joy. Neither could Telari.

"He's a fitting companion for the Hero of Ferelden. You should have seen your lad in action. So brave against the Darkspawn!" Nuraya still balked at the title, but decided to bite her tongue.

Telari handed her the reins and they walked the perimeter of the yard. Telari recounted her experience during the siege of Denerim and could not wait to hear Nuraya's accounts on the summit of Fort Drakon. She tried her best to describe her experience. At best, the entire event was a blur of violence and the screams of the Archdemon deep inside her mind. It was difficult to recount the final moments, but she did. She remembered that all too clearly.

"So he just appeared on the tower?" Telari asked incredulously.

"Yes, and prevented me from making the killing blow." Telari looked inquisitively. Nuraya said. "Templars control Mages. He removed my abilities." Reluctantly, but appreciating the confidence she had established with Telari, she explained Morrigan, her proposal and the letter she found earlier that day. Nuraya's companion stood agog.

"I tell you this in the strictest confidence. Secrets have the habit of making me do crazy things." Telari smiled in a way that assured Nuraya of their trust.

"Crazy? I don't think so."

"Please, I could have done so much more. Could have used my connection with Loghain more strategically, I could have—" Her mind swarmed with a million clever plans to get what she wanted, if she only had more nerve, more courage.

Telari raised her hand to interrupt. "You have what all great leaders require."

"What is that?"

"Vision. And better it wasn't about your own rise to power, but helping to empower your kind."

"What is the point of having such lofty ideas if in the end, I am in the same place as where I started with Duncan a year ago?" Nuraya cringed regretfully as she let his name slip out, but Telari smiled in response.

"Do you really think you have made so little a difference? People, not just mages, but Elves and citizens of Ferelden whisper what you intend. You're not just the Hero of Ferelden, but I've heard people speak of the liberator."

Nuraya rolled her eyes. "Well, won't that endear me to the Chantry! Why not just paint a target right between my eyes?"

"The Chantry will dare not touch you. Not after what you have done for Ferelden. Not when you have strong ties with the king and the nobility. Who do you think funds the Chantries throughout the country? Some coin trickles in from Orlais, but certainly not much. It is not an absolute power. It requires support from us. So some accommodations will be made."

Nuraya took a deep breath and decided to rush headlong into the scheme she had been mulling. After this particular conversation, she was never more certain that it was a perfectly sound plan.

* * *

_Bioware owns all. My thanks to Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider - betas most excellent and fabulous. And of course thanks to all the readers who stopped by! I may have to duck the incoming flames, but I am willing to stand by Nuraya's decision. I think it says a lot about her courage and her own feeling of self-worth. Some sacrifices aren't worth making. For me this is a happy ending...it is the kind of happy that will last for a lifetime. I have one more chapter in the vault. Stay tuned for **Chapter 23: Recovery**. :)_


	23. Chapter 23: Recovery

Over the course of two weeks, Alistair fully recovered from his injuries. There was much relief, particularly among the nobility, that his faculties remained sound as he gradually stepped into his public role. Nuraya kept her distance, although the affairs concerning Ferelden and the need to rebuild after the Blight made it look less obvious. A modest coronation was in the planning to officially crown the King and mark the end of the Blight with celebration. This was to happen the following night. The palace had been abuzz with activity since sunrise and Nuraya ducked out for the day to avoid getting in the way of the rushing servants.

During Alistair's convalescence, Nuraya worked with Wynne and the Mages Collective to heal the people throughout the city. If that was not enough, she filled her days with an effort to help those most in need find more appropriate accommodations or to locate an available hand to help with repairs. Jaska and Tarben were quick to volunteer their service, along with her original companions. Besides healing, she used no other magic; she was too afraid to draw the Chantry's guarded eye. Members of the Mage's Collective took her lead and did the same.

Kalvindir established himself in an abandoned warehouse and set up a make-shift hospital. Some Chantry sisters even volunteered for nursing duty and an uneasy alliance seemed to form in those first chaotic weeks. Nuraya knew this would be short lived, and believed that once order was established, the Chantry would clearly redraw these boundaries. In the meantime, she at least hoped that Kalvindir would be allowed to continue his practice. Despite his gruffness, he had a way with people, particularly those whose minds were wounded from horrors brought by the Blight.

She should have suffered the same, but believed that the release of the Archdemon had a profound effect on her mental state. The period before the siege seemed so far away and she could no longer relate to her former sense of desperation. She felt released from many torments, from some of her heartsickness and her urgency to force Alistair to change the world for her. She had already planted some new seeds in her mind. They were more like acorns and would take root and eventually grow sturdy and strong over time.

Through the Collective she learned, to her utter relief, that Dungarven survived and her father was part of their reconstruction effort. Once the coronation was over, she intended on travelling in hopes of settling there. She had to remind herself that she was still a Grey Warden, in fact the top ranking Warden in Ferelden. She also needed to start recruiting. Oghren started hinting of his desire to join the ranks, but she was reluctant in allowing a friend to risk his life for the same curse.

Nuraya was sweeping an alleyway of debris. Within hours of the Archdemon's demise and the rampaging exodus of the Darkspawn, Denerim's survivors continued to pile the foul corpses outside the city walls. Fires burned for many days. The stench lingered but everyone endured it, knowing it would cleanse the city.

The week prior, she and a small gathering of her closest allies held a modest funeral for Riordan. A smaller pyre had been built near a grove away from the great burning. His shrouded corpse was placed on top and Nuraya used her magic to set the fire, under the watchful eye of the Denerim Chantry. She and Alistair spoke a tender eulogy, acknowledging his bravery and sacrifice.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she pushed the pulverized stone and splintered wood into a pile at the mouth of the lane; someone would come with a cart and use it as foundation filler for the ensuing construction. These long hours were as physically demanding as her adventures throughout Ferelden, only this time she wielded a broom. She wondered what happened to Galdorbryne and why it had not been returned to her. During desperate times, people did desperate things. She hoped that whoever picked it up decided to sell it to feed his family or rebuild his home.

Her work in the alleyway gave her time to continue working on her plan. She had spent most of her free time with Telari, reassuring her of this idea. Her methodic sweeping of the cobblestones offered a rhythmic meditation, clearing space in her thoughts to work through the implications and anticipating the challenges. She also thought a lot about Fiona and where her next journey would take her.

The Chantry bells, still functional in their tower, rang out a late afternoon hour. Wynne would want her back, no doubt, to prepare for the celebrations. No matter how vehement Wynne's insistence, Nuraya decided she would not be wearing a dress. If Denerim wanted the Hero of Ferelden, a title she continued to resist, they would have to accept her in a style she preferred. Working through her arguments, a young pageboy ran into the alley, all red-faced and out of breath. He leaned on his knees and continued to exhale rapidly.

"Dear boy, it seems like you have run around the city, twice!"

"Lady Grey! I've been… looking everywhere… for you. His Majesty… requests an audience… with the Hero of Ferelden."

The formality grated on her. Not two months ago, Alistair would have come looking for her himself. It wasn't the boys fault though. She leaned the broom against the wall, wiped her hands on her tunic and then mussed the boy's hair.

"Well then, we shall not keep his Majesty waiting, shall we?" She led him out to the city square where she had tethered Tandie near a watering and feed trough and lifted the lad into the saddle. His delight for the ride could not be contained. Saddling behind him she instructed the boy to hold on tight and galloped toward the Palace.

~0oOo0~

Before meeting Alistair, she decided to dust off, remove some of the grime from her hands and face. Wynne burst in.

"My dearest look at you! Your bath is drawn, quick you must change, we only have a few hours before you are expected in the great hall!" Wynne set about the room setting out her soaps, oils and toiletries.

"I have to see Alistair first. He sent a page to fetch me from the city."

Wynne pulled out a rose coloured monstrosity from the wardrobe and held it out for Nuraya to examine. It dripped with satin, lace and pretentious ruffles.

"Forget it." Nuraya said flatly. Wynne sighed.

"Will you just choose something? Leliana and I have selected at least ten dresses. There has to be something that you like. Here…" she returned the dress and pulled out another. "…what about this one? It's black!"

Nuraya headed toward the door and stood for a second, bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am quite capable of dressing myself. Don't be offended Wynne. You know how uncomfortable I am with public adoration."

Wynne continued to sift through the clothing that had arrived at an alarming pace over the past week. "You've worked too hard. There is no way I am having those arrogant Banns wrinkle their nose at their own Hero. And that hair! Oh, if you were not so impulsive…"

"Wynne…" Nuraya found Wynne's nervous energy somewhat amusing. "I'll be right back—I'll see what Alistair wants—and then I am yours to adorn."

Once on the other side of the door, she peered back in. "But I'm not wearing a dress!"

Alistair was pacing about his room. He decided he would stay in the same wing with his Blight companions until after the coronation. His cotton tunic was wrinkled and not properly tucked into his breeches. In the corner beside the hearth his ceremonial armor waited for its King. Its golden and silverite detailing reflected the fire.

"Don't let Wynne catch you dressed like that or she'll have the palace valet marching up here." Nuraya said, leaning on the door jamb.

"Makers tears! I've searched the entire city for you." He scratched his head and looked about the room. Clearly, he was distracted, even nervous about something. Perhaps he was as uncomfortable with public attention as she.

"Afraid I fled the city?" she grinned and helped herself to a glass of wine from a decanter on a side table. "You know I was considering skipping this affair. If I have to see another ruffle or lace detail, I may just duck into the Gnawed Noble for the evening."

Alistair sat upon an upholstered chaise and patted a spot beside him. "Come sit."

A deep uneasiness erupted from the pit of her stomach. She knew that he did not call her over for a light-hearted discussion. This was going to be about something serious and she had no idea what he needed to say. She topped her wine goblet and joined him, pulling up a leather footstool and propped up her feet. Alistair took a deep breath and she watched him, somewhat reluctant to hear what he was about to say.

"I just wanted a few minutes with you. You know, before everything changes. There is something I wanted to tell you about the coronation today" he said.

"The coronation? Someone's going to plop a crown on your head and we'll cheer, right?"

"That's just it. The Chantry is concerned about my relationship with you."

"Shocking!" Nuraya answered sarcastically.

"So I have decided to…shut them up…so to speak."

Nuraya looked at Alistair quizzically as he continued. "I'm allowing the Chantry to conduct a more formal coronation ceremony, somewhat adapted from what is done in Orlais. Apparently, they have been pestering the Landsmeet for years to formalize the ritual, but of course, the Bannorn dug in their heels, thinking it would make Ferelden appear as a colony of Orlais." He wanted to go on but appeared uncomfortable. Nuraya realized that her presence stirred political and religious unease.

"But a certain mage is making the nobility worry that you've allied with the mages…they are afraid of rebellion..." She said.

"Something like that. I just wanted to tell you myself. The nobility now believe the Chantry's involvement with the coronation is a good idea. I didn't want you to think I was going out of my way to offend you. I'm going to do everything within my power to make sure that mages are treated fairly in Ferelden. In order to do that, the Chantry has to trust me."

Nuraya nodded slowly, swirled her wine. "Then, don't worry about offending me. I understand."

Alistair's concern changed to sadness and he grabbed her hand. They sat quietly for a moment. "I'm glad. It's nice to just be the two of us again. I'll miss that."

Nuraya perked up and grinned mischievously. "Now that I have your attention, without the bother of the entire Fereldan nobility coming and going, I've been meaning to grill you on a thing or two…" Once Alistair regained consciousness and his strength, she never could find the time to settle her nagging questions.

"Please don't make me recount that night with Morrigan. I was hoping that blow to the head would have knocked that memory out of me."

Nuraya laughed and then grew serious. "Why _did_ you show up on the tower? If you completed the ritual, why even bother?"

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the tops of his legs. "After it was all over, I wasn't sure. I had this nagging feeling that it was some sort of trick. I couldn't shake it. The only way I could be sure was to kill it myself."

Nuraya pondered the possibilities and shook her head, grateful that Morrigan's ritual worked.

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about her anymore," she sighed.

"Or my demon offspring."

"Old God, don't forget."

"Maker help me. What if someone finds out? There will be rioting in the street!"

"No point in worrying. The deed is done. You're clever enough to deal with any eventualities. Can't have a boring King can we?"

"King. I feel hardly deserving of the title. The bastard King."

"The Bastard King and the unworthy Hero of Ferelden…" she signed.

"Unworthy? What do you mean? You are the hero here, Nuraya."

"You killed the Archdemon, not me."

"Who defeated Uldred and saved the Circle from Annulment? Who freed the werewolves from Zathrian's curse? Who saved Conner and Arl Eamon? Who will liberate the mages?"

Nuraya glared at him, but he continued. "Without you, none of this would have been possible. I stabbed a dragon. That's it. You did all the work. So when I present the Hero of Ferelden today, I want you to march forward, all stubborn and lovely, filled with the satisfaction of knowing that you did this as yourself. No demons, no spirits. Think of how many mages will tell the story of Nuraya the Battle Mage who stopped a Blight and showed Ferelden that mages need not be locked away…"

Nuraya tried to stifle her blush. She took a drink and decided to discuss her newest scheme. "I've been thinking…"

"Oh no. No. No. No." He shook his hands at her. "I can hear it in your voice. You have something up your sleeve don't you?" He seemed genuinely worried.

"Well then, at least give me credit for discussing it in private and not in front of every noble in Ferelden."

"Great Maferath. Out with it then…I am very afraid…" He sat back in the settee and folded his arms across his chest.

Nuraya could find no way to ease into her proposal and decided to just be blunt.

"I want you to marry Telari."

There was a long silence. She watched for his reaction and hoped she wouldn't raise his ire as she had with her revelation about her birth father. Finally he looked at her.

"I don't even know what to say to that. Let's not mention the ridiculousness of the situation. The woman I love arranging my marriage to someone else. Maker, Maferath and Andraste…"

"Give it a thought at least. It would be a great honour to align the Couslands with the royal line, after all that Howe did to the family. She is charming, intelligent, witty…"

"Have you been into the Legacy White Shear again? Can you hear yourself?"

"I'm perfectly sober. I know this is not the situation we wanted. I've come to accept that you won't be able to convince the Chantry to allow us to be together. I'm not okay with that, but I am not going to allow sadness and anger drive me. So, I thought very long and hard about it, and I wondered to myself, who could I see you with that would not drive me crazy or riddled with jealousy? Besides, I can't have Eamon choose for you, or you'd end up with some Orlesian tart."

"You realize you're planning my life again. I am quite capable of doing that myself now." He was not angry, just matter-of-fact.

She paused for a moment and realized her audacity.

"Okay, this is not a request, it's a suggestion. A good one. You two are connected through Duncan. She knows me and therefore won't banish my presence from court. We may not be able to be lovers, but I don't want to lose a friend, not after everything that we've been through together."

Alistair put his arm around her and pulled her close. She relaxed into him.

"And what does Telari have to say about this? Have you let her in on this scheme? Don't tell me she'll be your next victim of public humiliation."

Nuraya laughed out loud. "I've spoken to her at length about it actually. And like you, she thinks it's a perfectly ridiculous plan. She knows how we feel about each other but is quite aware of how impossible it will be for you and I to continue, but the requirement for an heir…" She thought of Fiona, but remained silent on that matter.

"It won't be fair to her. I love you. I am sure we could get along fine…but…"

"She will always love Duncan. I'm quite certain the two of you will find a way to make it work." It was difficult to even imagine him in her arms, but accepting Telari as Queen was the only alternative she felt she could live with. Sure there would be jealously in her heart, but she had no intention of remaining in Denerim to allow that to fester. With enough time and space, she hoped her heart would mend, even just a little. "Just promise me you'll think about it. No need to propose tonight!"

"I was hoping you'd stay on here in Denerim as the court healer," he said finally.

"Once I'm through with my responsibilities as Commander of the Grey, I think I'll settle with my father. You don't need to be reminded about me every day."

"Then who shall plan all my affairs? Who shall name my firstborn?"

Nuraya laughed, although it stung her. She was ready to work through that. She could have sat there the entire evening with him. Just as that wish entered her mind, Arl Eamon burst through the door.

"Alistair! For Maker's sake what are you doing…Come! You barely have time to prepare for the ceremony. I've been meeting with the Revered Mother and I have to go over the proceedings with you…and…look at yourself…"

Nuraya stood and kissed his cheek.

"Wynne will be completely off her dragon too. I shall see you in the Great Hall."

~0oOo0~

Wynne and Leliana pounced on Nuraya the second she opened the doors to her quarters. They were speaking at her simultaneously and at a rate she could barely comprehend or respond to. It all had to do with matters of primping and preening, of which she had zero interest, but acquiesced out of respect for her companions. They urged her into the bath and scrubbed her raw. Leliana doused her in fragrant oils, a spicy woody fragrance from a rare Orlesian tree found deep in the forests to the north of the country. Wynne dunked her head below the water and worked her fingers on Nuraya's scalp and through her course hair. They wrapped her in a chenille robe to dry and continued filing, plucking, combing, and rubbing.

"Now, let's get you dressed." Leliana announced with excitement, and clapped her hands playfully.

"Andraste help me." Nuraya grumbled.

Leliana disappeared behind a changing screen. "I found just the thing for you! It took us a while…"

Nuraya sat obediently as Wynne trimmed the uneven strands of hair that Nuraya had severed by the river. With a little oil, she pulled it from her forehead and allowed it to fall in shiny dark waves.

"Let me see it then." Nuraya crossed her arms and prepared herself for more exotic fabrics and gaudy tailoring.

Leliana was beaming as she carried the apparel over her arm. The colours, at least, were appealing: black brocade, a shock of burgundy and a glimmer of silver. Nuraya watched as Leliana arranged everything carefully on the bed.

"Wynne and I decided to offer you a compromise between ceremonial armor and formal dress. I found this. It was originally made for a young gentleman, but I had the tailor make a few adjustments." Leliana held up a black jacquard dress coat that flared out, just enough to grab attention, yet avoided an impression of ostentation. The fabric revealed only a hint of design. There was not a ruffle to be seen. Nuraya nodded with approval.

Leliana and Wynne sighed with relief and encouraged Nuraya to hurry. Under the coat she pulled on a pair of black leather breeches. Leliana worked the row of buckles and cording that fastened the jacket at the breast and then arranged her in a black corset belt. Finally, Wynne appeared with a long length of tasselled silk, the color of an aged Orlesian wine.

"We can't have you completely in black. This isn't a funeral after all." She tied it around her waist, over the corset, and knotted it to allow the ends drape in front.

Nuraya bent over to pull on her boots and groaned. "Leliana, you left me no room to breathe!"

"Just stand up straight, you'll be fine."

Finally, both Wynne and Leliana secured a set of black and silverite bracers and decorative greaves. They stood back and admired their work. Leliana clapped and jumped with excitement.

Breathlessly, Leliana excused herself to attend to her own preparations and scurried out of the room, bidding both mages an enthusiastic "I shall see you in the great hall!"

Wynne closed the door.

"Before we leave, I wanted to make sure how you are faring, my dear."

"I'm alright. A little reluctant I suppose. I really don't like crowds."

Wynne crossed her arms and flashed a more concerned look. "That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you and that fellow across the hall."

"Yes, that. I'm trying to accept our situation. It does not make the pain go away though. I am hoping it might someday."

"It does," Wynne reassured, "although not entirely. I've been worried. You seem to act as if nothing bothers you, that it is business as usual. Denial is a troubling behaviour."

"Denial?" Nuraya thought on that idea for a moment and then continued. "I know this is where our journey together ends. There are days and nights that I would prefer to do nothing but weep. The sadness is exhausting and more fatiguing than battle. I have so much to do and there are so many here that have lost so much more than I have. Before the siege I thought I was going to die, so in a way, I balance out my sadness with gratitude. I have another chance. I want to do something, to make a difference for us mages, although I am not sure what that might be yet. Part of me feels that succumbing to my devastation is rather selfish. Is that denial Wynne? Is there something I'm not seeing?"

"No, child. You see quite clearly. I would call that maturity. Now come let us celebrate our Hero," she said.

~0oOo0~

The great hall was brimming with people. It was standing room only. Nobility stood along with ordinary citizens, her surviving armies from Redcliffe, Orzammar, the Dalish and the Circle. Familiar faces peppered the crowd. Irving was there, Telari, Teagan, Isolde and countless others she had encountered throughout Ferelden. Wynne and Leliana stood on either side of her and often looked over to smile widely.

Trumpets bearing the royal standard hushed the buzzing crowd and announced Alistair's arrival. A royal fanfare played triumphantly as he marched steadfastly down the aisle. Folk nearest the aisle threw roses and Andraste's grace at his feet, as the hall reverberated with celebration. Nuraya watched his expression and saw that it bore none of his previous reservations or doubts. Confidently, he arrived, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. As he passed Nuraya, he turned and winked at her. This was her only sign that somewhere deep beneath the decorum was the Alistair she had fallen in love with. Wynne grasped her hand.

The coronation ceremony was a tedious affair, thought Nuraya. The Grand Cleric commanded silence without word or gesture when she joined Alistair in front of his audience. She swung an elaborately decorated thurible in front of him. Incense billowed from its bowl, and Nuraya wondered how he could maintain such stoicism and ignore the pungent smoke. She recited canticles from the Chant of Light and offered her blessings. It took a great deal of self-control for Nuraya to inhibit an outward expression of disdain, but realized that all eyes were fixed upon the King. There was no mention of mages during the Grand Cleric's benediction, or of their central role in ensuring Ferelden recognized its rightful heir. What role did the Chantry play in this journey? It should have been Irving performing the ceremony, she thought. The artifice was palpable to Nuraya. It all seemed so fake. She understood Alistair's decision, but it left a sour taste in her mouth.

The Grand Cleric commenced his vows, in a solemn, ritualistic tone that echoed clearly throughout the hall.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the free holding peoples of Ferelden, according to their respective laws and customs? Do you promise to honour and uphold the support of the Bannorn? "

Alistair answered, "I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgements?"

"I will."

"Will you to the utmost of our power maintain the Laws of our Maker and beloved prophet Andraste and the true profession of the Chant of Light? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in Ferelden the teachings of the Chantry? And will you preserve unto the Clerics and her Sisters, and to the Chantries there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges that appertain to them?"

"All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep, in the name of the Maker and our beloved prophet Andraste."

As this was her first coronation ceremony, Nuraya did not quite know what to expect. She expected the Grand Cleric to present him with a crown and offer blessings. She did not expect these vows. How ridiculous it would have been, to stand in front of the dais with him and share these vows as Queen. She was never more certain that it was her destiny to witness this, still maintaining her freedom to criticize the Chantry from a distance.

Wynne turned to her and whispered, "I see our boy has started his political maneuverings." Nuraya raised her eyebrow.

The Grand Cleric presented a scroll, bound to a wooden roller to Alistair, which he accepted with regal precision.

"Here is Wisdom; these are the beloved oracles of the Maker."

She blessed Alistair again, holding her hand over his forehead and muttering her prayer intended for only the King. When she was finished, a high order Chantry sister placed a grand robe of emerald velvet and wolf fur, and took Alistair by the hand and offered it to the Grand Cleric. She escorted him to the throne. From either side of the dais, two more sisters approached bearing a crown and a medallion on velvet pillows. They stood on either side of the Grand Cleric. She selected the medallion and placed it around Alistair's neck and then placed the jeweled crown upon his head. Nuraya was about to clap but Leliana elbowed her gently.

"Not yet! The Grand Cleric must swear her fealty."

"I, Grand Cleric Endelyon of Denerim will be faithful and true, and faith and truth will bear unto you, our Sovereign Lord and King of this Realm and unto your heirs and successors according to law. Maker preserve us." The Grand Cleric turned to the crowd.

Nuraya looked at Leliana.

"Now the King will pay their homage to the nobility. It is almost done. This is nothing like what happens in Orlais. Coronations there take days to complete."

From the crowd, approached Telari Cousland, Arl Eamon and a host of other nobles and stood before the throne. Alistair kneeled before them. Chantry sisters quickly arranged his robe behind him, so it spread out impressively behind him.

Nuraya turned to Leliana quizzically and Leliana offered an explanation. "Power in Ferelden does not descend from the throne. It arises from the support of the freeholders. Alistair is acknowledging that right now." Nuraya wished she had paid more attention in history class.

The nobles spoke in union. "We do become your liege of life and limb. In faith and truth I will bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of beasts and beings. Maker preserve us."

Each high ranking noble stepped forward, one by one, and placed their family sword on each shoulder of the King, and whispered privately to him. When it was Telari's turn, Nuraya watched carefully but noticed nothing except their nervous formality.

When this was complete, Alistair responded in turn, "I accept the power you entrust in me and swear my entire life will serve the benefit of all freeholders in Ferelden. Maker preserve us." He slowly rose to his feet again.

The Grand Cleric and her attendants quietly exited from the side while the nobility resumed their positions amongst the gathered. Alistair stood and approached the front of the stage.

The trumpets blazed a glorious sound and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Nuraya felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment as she watched him stand before the people as King. How long ago was it that he would barely acknowledge this possibility? With overwhelming satisfaction, she hoped that some scholar when accounting the annals of the installment of King Alistair would remember the importance of the mage who encouraged him. He motioned to his audience that he was ready to speak. Eventually, the crowd calmed and when only a few escaped whispers could be heard, he commanded the room with his voice.

"My friends we are gathered to celebrate those responsible for our victory. Of those who stood against the Darkspawn siege of Denerim, there is one in particular who deserves commendation: the one who led the charge against the Archdemon remains with us still. An inspiration to all she saved that day. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present the Hero of Ferelden. The first Grey Warden to defeat the blight since Garahel four centuries ago."

The room exploded with cheering once again. He gestured toward Nuraya, requesting her to join him. Frozen in place, Wynne nudged her forward, whispering "Get up there! And don't forget to bow to the King!"

Nuraya gathered her courage one more time, and joined him on stage and bowed.

"Nuraya Amell from the Circle of Magi, it is hard to imagine how you could have aided Ferelden more. I think it only appropriate that I return the favor. Is there any boon you might request of Ferelden's King?" She liked that he acknowledged her beginnings. At least the Chantry would be reminded that their survival depended on the Mages.

She turned to Alistair for her request. "I ask that the Circle of Magi be given its independence."

The audience uttered gossipy whispers as they awaited the King's response. She could tell just by looking at him that he expected this request.

"I doubt the Chantry will agree but you have an excellent point. Let it be known that the Fereldan Mages have earned the right to watch over themselves. The Tower shall be restored and returned to the Circle."

Every mage in the hall cheered, thus leading another round of applause. His answer was unexpected, and Nuraya did not anticipate that it would come to fruition either. The long journey to emancipate the Mages would begin with words. The actions now depended on Nuraya. So lost in thought, she barely caught King Alistair bestowing the Arling of Amaranthine upon the Grey Wardens.

He turned back to Nuraya and asked, "So what are you plans? Do you intend on staying with the Grey Wardens?"

Nuraya smiled at him. "I have no immediate plans." Then she winked. Alistair flashed her a knowing look; he knew that this was not the case.

~0oOo0~

She spent a considerable amount of time mingling with the crowd, allowing the grateful to offer embraces and handshakes. Alistair gave her space, allowing the adulation she deserved. Eventually, he wove his way through the crowd and touched her shoulder.

"Don't expect any miracles with regard to the Circle. The Grand Cleric almost called for an Exalted March. I might not have your confidence in seeing this through, but it does not mean I do not think it should happen. I will help however possible. Within reason of course." He winked. "But I couldn't let the Chantry have it completely their way."

"Even though it was an empty promise, it felt good just to hear it." She was careful to keep her distance. It was fun to at least play with the idea in front of all of Ferelden.

"I have one last surprise for you," he said.

"Oh, a plan! You've been scheming I see."

He led her toward a quiet alcove.

"I was taught by the best, you see." He motioned for someone to step forward. Nuraya turned around and radiated with joy.

"Papa!" They wrapped their arms around each other in a long and tight embrace.

She pulled apart from him and could see the pride in his eyes.

"I will leave you two." Alistair said. Maldwyn offered the king a respectful bow.

"Please, stay," she said and made introductions.

"I hear that you were a friend of Duncan's. Please, when all this chaos settles, join me so we can share some stories." Alistair said. Maldwyn was so happy he barely knew what to say.

"The first I heard that you survived was when the King sent a messenger to invite me to this celebration. You canna imagine my relief! Thank the Maker! And my congratulations to his Majesty, may your reign be long and peaceful."

Alistair grinned and was about to offer more to the conversation when Arl Eamon came to usher the new King to attend to more of his public duties. Alistair offered a playful wave good-bye.

Nuraya hugged her father again and escorted him through the crowd to introduce him to her friends.

"Papa, I have still have some business with the Wardens, but once I am free, I shall join you in Dungarven." He grinned. They both seemed to share a reticence to crowds.

"My door will always be open pup. This celebration! I have never seen the likes of it!"

"Wait until the dancing starts."

~0oOo0~

After a banquet involving many courses, free flowing wine and excited chatter, the band began to play. Traditionally, it was customary for the King to ask his betrothed for the first dance. This evening reminded her fondly of dancing wildly at Eamon's after her journey to the Fade. This particular occasion would be more formal, and she would remain considerably more sober. She sat with her father and her companions, recounting story after story about how they raised their armies and defeated the Archdemon. As the music of the first dance began, Alistair approached and held his hand out to Nuraya. From her chair she looked up in disbelief.

"You cannot be serious. Scandal on your first day as King!"

Taking her hand, she reluctantly followed to the centre of the dance floor and commenced the waltz.

"You will have tongues wagging," she scolded him.

"Let them talk. Just because I can't have everything that I want, doesn't mean I can't pretend for a couple of minutes. This is my boon." He looked deeply into his eyes and she hoped that he was coping with letting go as well as she.

Toward the end of the song, Nuraya stepped back and walked over to Telari Cousland. She took her by the hand and joined it with Alistair's. Then, she shooed them away. Both looked at Nuraya with shock, but neither wanted to make a public scene.

"Go give them more fodder for gossip!" She winked.

Nuraya slinked away, with one last plan to execute for the evening.

~0oOo0~

With her father, she dodged the celebrating crowd and followed a long dark corridor to the back of the palace. Opening a heavy wooden door, they ascended a flight of stone stairs, illuminated with torches. She greeted a set of guards who ushered her into the Palace prison.

Clean straw lie scattered on the floor and she was directed to the cell at the far end. Inside, sat a woman she could barely recognize. A plate of food and water sat untouched. No longer in her finery, she sat on a bench in a shapeless grey shift. Her hair hung in greasy ropes, her eyes, gouged with deep dark circles stared down without expression. Her bare arms and feet were smeared with dirt. From the shadow she refused to raise her head and acknowledge her visitors.

"I come with a proposal, Anora."

Anora turned her head. "Leave me, Warden." Her voice had lost its fire and determination. Nuraya motioned for the guard, who unlocked the cell and allowed Nuraya to enter. Her father remained watchful outside of the cell. She sat beside her.

"I would like to free you, Anora."

The former Queen looked up quizzically and then laughed suspiciously.

"Have you come to taunt me with this ridiculous tale that you have concocted about your parentage? Please, I suffered enough. I'd rather sit here and rot than continue to listen to your lies. Do not bewitch me, mage."

"My lady. What Nuraya speaks is true," Maldwyn said. He repeated the tale he had told Nuraya. When he was finished, Anora refused to acknowledge his story.

"What would be his reason to lie?" Nuraya asked. "You have no more control over this connection than I do, Anora. But it does not change the fact that we are sisters. Your husband was murdered at the hands of our father. I think I better understand your pain and determination to keep the throne. I had reasons of my own to prevent you from doing so and as a consequence, your hatred of my decision may always separate us. But, I come with an offer for a new beginning for you. You served Ferelden with Cailan. Granted, I cannot condone or support your attitude toward the Magi. I am willing to overcome my anger. Everyone deserves a second chance. I can use women of skill. Work with me, try and understand the mages. We do not all serve demons. Not all of us wish to see another Imperium rise."

Anora raised an eyebrow.

"Join the Grey Wardens."

The former queen's eyes seemed to twinkle in the torchlight.

"And you do this out of pity or spite?"

"Neither. You have skills. I need them. Don't make me conscript you, Anora. I have the power to do that as well."

"That will not be necessary, sister. I accept your offer."

~0oOo0~

Nuraya and her father enjoyed the fresh air on the porch. The air was getting stuffy as dozens of dancers took to the music and expressed their relief and elation that the Blight was ended and new King had been crowned. From over the walls, she could hear celebration in the streets. Nuraya had worked tirelessly the previous week to make sure that food donations were provided to the people of Denerim as they celebrated inside the castle.

She turned and watched inside and saw Alistair dancing with Telari. They looked guarded together, but Nuraya believed it was mostly due to her looming presence. They would be granted the space and time they needed to cultivate their relationship in due time. She watched and wished longingly that she could switch places with Telari, and stand before the unlimited possibilities with him. Nuraya quickly wiped a tear with the back of her hand.

"Come pup, save that for another day." He wrapped an arm around her.

"This will be my last. I have much to accomplish in the days ahead."

**THE END**

* * *

_Bioware owns all. To my Betas Kira Tamarion and DoorbellSpider. We did it! You are fabulous and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your time, effort, encouragement and suggestions. This is the first piece of creative writing that I have undertaken, and my first goal was to get it finished. Its nice to be able post the last chapter and to feel a sense of accomplishment. I learned so much through the process and feel that I grew as a writer, as much as Nuraya grew on her journey. Sure, its not a perfect tale, there are blemishes and it is rough around the edges...but I did it! (Cue Rocky theme!) Many thanks to each and every one you YOU who followed Nuraya's journey. As the old saying goes, this is not the end...its only the beginning. Next week, I will be posting the first chapter of the sequel! Stay tuned for **Chapter One: Connor**_ in Andraste's Key.


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